


In This Cold Heart

by maraudersaffair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Background Relationships, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Community: hd_erised, First Time, Fuck Or Die, H/D Erised 2018, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Light Angst, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Nightmares, POV Alternating, Party Games, Pining, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Sharing a Bed, Spin the Bottle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-08-23 10:19:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16617107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudersaffair/pseuds/maraudersaffair
Summary: Eighth Year holds many surprises for Harry. Like sharing a bed with Draco Malfoy or being attacked by a revengeful Death Eater. Harry just wants to get on with his life. He also wants to snog Draco.Draco just wants to survive his last year at Hogwarts.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cami_soul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cami_soul/gifts).



> A big thanks to my beta, L! Cami_Soul, I hope you enjoy! I set out wanting to write older!Drarry, but I wanted to include as many of your requests as possible. I hope you like the bed sharing *and* the fuck or die plot.

After the war, Draco couldn’t sleep in the Manor. The bedrooms held too many nightmares. When he laid down for the night, squeezing his eyes closed against the darkness, he felt trapped, suffocated. He felt like he would die.

He took to sleeping outside, which baffled his mother and annoyed his father, but only for a little while. There would be no trials for Draco and his mother, thanks to Potter and his testimony, but his father could not be saved. Draco didn’t know how he felt. 

There was something so peaceful about the nighttime sky. The Manor was surrounded by miles of rural farmland, so the stars were quite bright. Draco liked looking at them. He liked staring into the black sky, contemplating a world beyond his own, a world of emptiness and nothingness. Sometimes, as his eyes fluttered near sleep, he imagined floating up up until he was swallowed.

Would he ever see his father again? Could he even stomach it?

*

“Life must go on.”

Draco and his mother were picking through their garden. All of their house-elves had run away, so their veg garden was their main source of food. 

“What are you trying to tell me?” He wiped the sweat from his forehead and cast another shielding charm. The day was hot and humid, and he wished the sun would just piss off. 

“You must go back to school.”

“No.”

“Look around you. Our world has changed. You will need an education. You will need to be employed.”

He knew what his father would say. _Deep down she’s still a Black. She doesn’t understand the Malfoy ways._ He’d always brought up his mother’s family when he planned to do something stupid and she didn’t agree. 

“What about you? What are you going to do when I’m at Hogwarts?”

She smiled weakly. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right.”

“You will be awfully lonely.”

She shrugged. “It will be good to live peacefully.”

“I can’t leave you.”

“Draco.”

He turned away from her. “I’m not going back.”

“Draco.”

“No.”

“If you don’t go now, you will be alienated for the rest of your life.”

“I don’t care.”

“You are too young to understand how hard it is to live.”

He laughed, and the sound was hollow. “I know what it’s like to not want to live.”

“It gets worse. Much worse. Please, do it for me. I want you to be happy.”

“Mother, please.”

“No, listen. I love you too much to let you throw away your life. I will be fine. Go back to school. Make new friends and alliances. You will need them.”

He thought about facing everyone he’d betrayed. He thought about roaming the corridors without Vincent. He thought about seeing Potter again. 

“I can’t go back.”

His mother gripped his shoulder, her voice firm. “You will.”

*

The night before he left for Hogwarts, he laid out his belongings on the floor of his bedroom and considered what to bring. The elves had always packed his trunk in previous years, so now he was quite bewildered about what he needed to get through a term.

He eyed his trousers. Most of them were too short. He’d grown over the past couple of years, and much of his clothing needed to be charmed to fit properly. Mending clothes had seemed like such a frivolous thing during war. Now he didn’t have the heart or the Galleons to visit Madam Malkin’s. The Ministry had frozen his family’s vaults.

Sighing, he sent his folded trousers into his trunk, saving his favorite pair for tomorrow. Then came his shirts and robes. Luckily, he had loads of underpants, but some were a bit frayed. He would just have to do his best to hide them from his dorm mates. His stomach squirmed. He still hadn’t a clue what McGonagall planned to do with all the eighth years; he imagined having to dorm with first or second years, and grimaced. He might just leave if they tried to do that to him.

Then there was the floorboard. He almost didn’t want to touch it. He was utterly alone, but his face still burned with embarrassment. He’d done it to get through the war. He’d _needed_ to do it. Now, he couldn’t stomach the shame.

He pulled up the rug and tapped his wand against a floorboard stamped with a scorch mark. Inside was a stack of newspaper clippings. Each one contained a photograph of Harry Potter. He licked his lips and stared. It had been a stupid, stupid thing to do, but collecting the clippings, _holding them_ , had kept him sane. It had comforted him to look into Potter’s eyes and imagine him ripping the Dark Lord to shreds.

He had to take them with him. The idea of leaving them here was . . . unbearable. They’d be safer with him. He could make sure no one else saw them; the last thing he needed was for his mother to search through his things because she was bored and discover them. No lies could explain them.

He stared some more. His blush deepened - he could feel their effect on him. He had done more than just hold them. It had felt so damn good to touch himself while looking at Potter. It had lessened the pain, the fear; and after he came, a fist stuffed in his mouth, his eyes rolling back, he had felt hope, but it was brief, so terribly brief. 

Tomorrow he would board the Hogwarts Express and try not to blush when he saw Potter. No, he wouldn’t blush. He virtually never blushed around Potter. He had to make sure not to fight him, not to glare at him. It wouldn’t do to tell the Boy Who Lived _Twice_ to piss off. _Make alliances_ , his mother had said. What she hadn’t said: _Make sure Harry Potter knows you are redeemed. Make sure everyone knows you can be trusted._

He sneered.

*

Harry would miss the Burrow. He didn’t want to return to Hogwarts. (How in the world was he going to eat in the Great Hall without thinking about the Final Battle?)

He would miss the Burrow, but he wouldn’t miss Mrs Weasley worrying over him or the ghoul moaning loudly through the walls. He definitely wouldn’t miss this moment alone with Ginny in Ron’s room.

“I don’t understand.”

She yanked at the duvet, nervous. She wouldn’t look at him. “I changed a lot, you know. When you were off fighting Voldemort. I - I realized things about myself.”

“And you realized you didn’t want to be with me anymore?” He tried to gulp, but his mouth was too dry.

“Yeah.”

“But -” _We were supposed to get married._

“I’m so sorry, Harry.”

“Stop.” He stood from the bed. He wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans. “It’s fine. These things happen.”

“Do you hate me?” There were tears in her eyes. 

He didn’t understand why she was crying. He took a deep breath and mustered a smile.

“It’s fine, Gin. Really.”

They went down to the kitchen for dinner. He felt out of his body. Hermione looked at him worriedly. He couldn’t focus his thoughts. _Gin broke up with me. She doesn’t want to be with me._ He usually wasn’t the crying type, but the disappointment swelled in his chest and he felt his eyes burn. 

He picked at his cottage pie, not really interested in the creamy potatoes or the hearty beef. His stomach clenched. He didn’t understand where he went wrong. 

The table wasn’t full. Mr Weasley was still at the Ministry and none of Ron’s older brothers had popped in for a bite to eat. This meant he couldn’t hide from the scrutiny. Gin picked at her food, looking miserable.

“I’m so glad you were able to visit little Ted, Harry.” Mrs Weasley smiled at him.

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’m sure Andromeda was grateful that you took the time to see him.”

“That’s good.”

Mrs Weasley frowned at him, then glanced at Gin, then raised her eyebrows at Ron, who shrugged. 

“Having stomach issues, mate?”

“Yeah . . . I don’t think I can eat anymore.” He stood and tried to take his plate to the sink.

“Leave it there, love.” Mrs Weasley shooed him to the door. “Rest up. You all have a long day tomorrow.”

Harry nodded and went upstairs. In Ron’s room, he Transfigured himself a bed and flopped down. He covered his face with both hands, trying hard not to think about Ginny. 

Things had been awkward between them, but he just thought it was a side effect of the war. They just needed time to get used to each other again. He needed time to remember how to kiss her properly, and she needed time to remember how to relax with him. Every time they’d managed to be alone, she’d been so damn stiff, so damn uncomfortable. He’d told himself to be patient. It was all bound to get better.

He never thought she’d _break up_ with him. With the war over, he’s assumed she was just as committed as he was. He’d assumed she had missed him like he had missed her.

He was such an idiot.

*

The next day was awfully warm. Sweat dripped down Harry’s face, and he felt bad for the little first years who’d already changed into their black robes.

The Hogwarts Express glittered in the sunlight; he stared, trying to remember why the paint was reminding him of something. Then it occurred to him: _Dragons_. He hoped that blind dragon was doing all right. He hoped its wounds had healed. 

Mrs Weasley embraced Ginny tearfully. “Goodbye, darling! Please remember you’re at that school for more than just playing Quidditch.”

“Mum,” Ginny said, embarrassed.

Harry turned away, suddenly uncomfortable. He blinked and realized he was looking at Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy was talking quietly to his mother, and they seemed a little disheveled. Malfoy eyed the people around them like he expected an attack. His mother kept her gaze down.

Harry wanted to look away, but something in him said _No. Keep looking._ Several seconds passed before Hermione nudged him.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“But - you’re staring.”

“No, I’m not.”

She followed his gaze. “They don’t look too good, do they?”

“Who?”

“The Malfoys.”

He shrugged. “I guess not.” At that moment, Malfoy looked right at him, and Harry quickly turned away. “Right. I’ll meet you lot in there.”

He gave Mrs Weasley a hug and jumped onto the train. He wanted to follow Ginny but stopped himself. That was over now.

All the compartments were taken up. He peered into one at the end and grimaced. Millicent Bulstrode. He thought about doubling back and trying his luck with some random third years, but his appearance would probably make them faint on the spot. Whispers were already trailing him.

He went into the compartment and took up a seat away from Bulstrode. She glared at him.

“Must you?”

“Everywhere else is full.” 

“And I’m sure all your Gryffindor mates are going to join you, too.”

“Yeah,” he said coolly.

“Great,” she muttered and took out a book. She read, still glaring, her thick eyebrows nearly touching.

Her disdain didn’t worry him; it was loads better than all the hero worship he’d suffered through since May.

The door opened. It was Neville and Luna.

“Oh, fuck,” Bulstrode said, and stood. She grabbed her things and made to leave.

“How are you, Mill?” Luna said.

Bulstrode grimaced. “I’ve been just fine.” She gritted her teeth. “And you?”

“Good, good. Won’t you sit with me? I’ve missed all our long talks.”

Bulstrode flushed. “Oh - I suppose -” She sat down next to Luna, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

“You know each other?” Harry said.

“Yes! Mill helped me a great deal last year. I don’t know what Ginny and I would’ve done without her.”

“Ginny?”

“Let’s change the subject,” Bulstrode said.

“I’m surprised you’re not sitting up with the conductor, Harry,” Neville said, half-joking.

Harry frowned. “I want to be treated like everyone else.”

“Good luck with that.” Bulstrode laughed.

The door opened again, and it was Draco Malfoy. He took one look at them and turned away.

“Don’t you dare leave me in here with them!” Bulstrode yelled.

Malfoy glanced down the corridor, a frown between his eyebrows. 

Harry wanted to say something. It was weird, but he wanted to invite Malfoy to sit down. 

“Malfoy.” He cleared his throat loudly. “Come sit down. Everywhere else is full.”

“Oh, all right,” Malfoy said, his voice holding just a hint of his old drawl. He sat down next to Bulstrode and crossed his long legs. He was so damn posh. 

There was an awkward silence. Malfoy glanced at him, his eyes cold and fishy.

“How was your summer, Draco?” Luna asked.

Color flooded Malfoy’s face. He wouldn’t look directly at her. “It was better than expected.”

Harry shuffled his feet, embarrassed. He was the reason why Malfoy and his mum had avoided Azkaban.

“How was your summer?” Malfoy asked Luna.

“Oh, just grand. Did a spot of exploring. It feels so good to have my freedom again. My injuries are healing nicely.”

A horrible shadow came over Malfoy’s face, and Harry wondered if he might cry. 

“I’m sorry, Lovegood.”

“Please, call me Luna.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“You said the same thing at the Manor.”

“Merlin! Let’s stop talking about this!” Bulstrode said.

“I wonder if they cleaned up all the blood spots,” Neville said. “In the castle, I mean.”

“What the hell!”

“What?” Neville blinked at Bulstrode. “It’s a fair question.”

“I don’t want to see any blood,” Harry said.

“No one does,” Malfoy muttered.

The door opened, and it was Ginny. She spoke to Bulstrode: “I’ve been looking every –” She stopped, suddenly noticing everyone else.

“Not the time,” Bulstrode said, her teeth gritted again, her face flushed. 

“Sorry,” Ginny said quickly and shut the door. They all looked at Bulstrode. Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her.

“I didn’t know you were mates with Weasley,” he said.

“And I didn’t know all your clothes now had holes!” she snapped.

They glared at each other. Malfoy was now the one blushing; he looked hurt, mortified.

“Anyone up for a game of floating Gobstones?” Luna asked. 

“Sure,” Harry said, but his mind was still on Ginny’s friendship with Bulstrode. He wondered if Hermione knew anything about it. 

When Hermione peeked her head inside to tell them she and Ron had found other seats, Harry almost asked her about Ginny and Bulstrode right then. What stopped him was Bulstrode and her obvious discomfort. She radiated with it, and it almost seemed like fear. 

Disappointed to not sit with Hermione and Ron, he focused on the game and tried not to look at Malfoy too much. Malfoy spoke to Bulstrode here and there, but mostly he stared out the window and remained silent. 

The train came to a stop and everyone gathered their belongings. Luna slid the Gobstones back into her floral purse.

The Scotland night was chillier than London, and Harry put on a light cloak to travel from the train. Up ahead, the castle glittered like a birthday cake. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off it.

Harry took a deep breath before entering the castle. They had won. The war was over. Voldemort no longer lived.

Still, his heart thumped painfully. “It’s okay,” he whispered.

The entrance was just as he’d remembered. There were no broken windows, no dried puddles of blood. All the portraits had been mended, and the occupants watched the stream of students quite cheerfully. 

He held his breath as he walked through the double doors of the Great Hall, afraid he’d see upturned tables and the corpses of loved ones. But, just like the entrance, the hall was restored, though there was an extra table.

“Eighth years at the end table,” called small Flitwick, waving his wand.

Harry shared a look with Ron and they followed a larger group away from the Gryffindor table.

It was strange sitting with classmates from other houses. Directly to his right, Malfoy took a seat. Harry turned away.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” Ron said.

Hermione nodded. “The hall looks different from this side.”

Harry poured himself some pumpkin juice and didn’t say anything. 

“I wonder if they’ll have us sleeping in the same dorm, too,” Ron said, who seemed to have read Professor Flitwick’s mind, because the small man stood on a chair at the end of the table to make an announcement.

“All eighth years will dorm in the Astronomy Tower. Hopefully everyone remembers where it is. If you don’t, ask a friend!”

Harry’s stomach churned. The Astronomy Tower? He would have to sleep where Dumbledore died?

“It doesn’t seem very sensitive,” Hermione said, glancing his way.

“Maybe we should ask for a switch. Mind, that was where Bill was attacked.” Ron shuddered. “I don’t fancy remembering that fight on the stairs.”

For some reason, Harry glanced at Malfoy and found that he’d gone white in shock. His mouth hung open and his eyes had a faraway look. 

Harry drowned his juice. He ran his hand through his hair. Finally, he decided to give into the urge. “All right there, Malfoy?”

Malfoy blinked at him. “You are talking to me.”

“No, it was a ghost.”

Color flooded his face again. “You don’t have to be a prick. I’m just surprised you’re talking to me.”

“I’m surprised, too.” Harry hesitated. “Terrible luck, this whole Astronomy Tower business.”

“I wonder if it’s on purpose.”

“What could their purpose be?”

“To punish me,” Malfoy muttered.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Not everything is about you.”

Malfoy narrowed his. “I know that, Potter.”

“Are you excited for your classes, Draco?” Hermione said.

Ron and Harry looked at her in surprise. Malfoy looked surprised, too.

“We’re chummy with Slytherins now?” Ron said.

“You don’t have to be nice because you feel sorry for me, Granger.”

Hermione raised her chin. “I don’t feel sorry for you. Didn’t you hear? We have to share a common room now. I’m trying to be _civil_.”

“Oh.” Malfoy smiled a little, and it held just a hint of his old sneer. “Then, yes, I’m excited for my classes, especially Potions.”

“Merlin,” Ron groaned. “You want to be the next Professor Snape, don’t you?”

Malfoy snorted. “No.”

“I’m pants at Potions. Always have been.” Harry fiddled with his cup, the back of his neck itching. It was so weird to chat with Malfoy like this.

The sorting for Houses began, and everyone watched with interest. Harry always liked seeing the new Gryffindors dash to their table excitedly.

Afterward, McGonagall stood and raised her wand. She wore brilliant green robes and a new shiny witches’ hat. She surveyed the students sternly. 

“Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. I will not pretend this is an ordinary year. As you can see, we have our eighth years at the table at the end.”

A Hufflepuff boy jumped up. He clapped madly. “Thank you, Harry Potter! Thank you!”

“ _Sit down_ , Lemonton.” McGonagall looked highly annoyed. “Since we’re on the subject, there will be no _hero worship_ this year. You aren’t here to ask for autographs. You’re here to learn. If you have other ideas, then you should leave now.”

The hall was quiet. Some of the students in the front nodded. Hagrid caught Harry’s eye and gave him a thumbs up.

“You all will be happy to know that Quidditch is back on this year,” McGonagall said. There were a few suppressed whoops. Across the room, Ginny high-fived the girl next to her. “Unfortunately, eighth years will not be permitted to play on the House teams. You can form your own team, if you’d like, but you will not compete for the Quidditch Cup.”

“Too bad,” Hermione said brightly.

“Damnit,” Harry said.

Ron squeezed his shoulder. “Would’ve loved to see you play again for Gryffindor.”

“Me too,” he sighed. “Though I understand why we can’t. It wouldn’t be fair to the younger students.”

Hermione beamed at him. “I’m glad you’re being reasonable about this.”

A few seats away, Goyle spoke to Malfoy: “It would’ve been fun.”

“Yeah, it would’ve,” Malfoy said. 

“Finally,” McGonagall said, her voice softening. “I know many of us had a hard go of it last year. The war is over, but the damage is still done. Please, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask any of the professors for help. Don’t hesitate to ask any of your peers for help. This will be a great year if we rely one another. Enjoy your dinner.” She took her seat and everyone clapped politely. 

Again, Harry glanced at Malfoy. Their eyes met and both looked away quickly.

“I liked the look of the new Gryffindors,” Ron said.

Harry nodded. “There was a broad bloke that seemed like he’d be a good Beater in a few years.” This made him think of Fred, and his throat tightened. He was glad when the food appeared.

Later, after a dinner of roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and an assortment of fruit tarts, the students marched up to bed. 

The eighth years wandered slowly. No one seemed particularly excited about going up to the Astronomy Tower. Professor Flitwick urged them forward.

“It’s a real treat, I promise!” he squeaked. 

When they made it to the tower steps, Ron shuddered and muttered, “I hate this place.”

Harry pushed forward bravely. He’d been through a lot, and he wasn’t about to let a renovated tower get the best of him. 

On the tower door hung a portrait of a Celtic maiden. Her lovely red hair spilled over her shoulders and her eyes were violet. She wore a brass torque around her neck and a long, flowing tunic.

“Listen closely, children,” she said.

Bulstrode scoffed and Parkinson rolled her eyes.

“The password is: _Trust_.”

“That’s stupid,” Ron muttered.

“It’s easy to remember, though,” Neville said, right behind Harry.

“You there, with the white hair,” said the portrait.

“Me?” Malfoy said, a little annoyed.

“Yes, _you_. What is the password?”

“Trust,” he answered, bored.

“Remember it,” the portrait said, and flung open.

The common room reminded Harry of Ravenclaw’s. Enormous windows let in the inky black sky. All four House banners hung from the high ceiling.

If Harry didn’t know any better, he never would’ve guessed he was in the Astronomy Tower.

“This is _gorgeous_ ,” Parkinson said, draped over a green velvet chair. Next to her, Seamus and Dean plopped down on a comfy red sofa with yellow pillows. 

“Nice,” Harry said.

In front of the largest window stood an ornate table with ravens carved into the legs. Six matching chairs circled it, upholstered in blue and white.

“I don’t know how they did it, but all of the house colors actually go together!” Hermione said. 

“You can’t beat this view,” Ron said from a window. 

Like in the Gryffindor common room, there were two staircases leading to the boys and girls dormitories.

Harry went to Ron and nudged him. “This means we’re sharing with _all_ the eighth year boys, even Malfoy and Goyle.”

“Fuck.” He shook his head sadly. “The place is going to _reek_.”

Harry laughed, then pointed to where the Hufflepuffs were gathered. “Look at that chess set!”

Next to the fireplace was an enormous chess set with pieces that stood almost to Harry’s waist. The Kings and Queens wore shimmering yellow and black robes, and a few knights held Hufflepuff flags.

“Why does Hufflepuff get all that?” Zabini asked, his arms crossed.

“You know why,” Malfoy said darkly.

“The Slytherin chairs are awfully nice, though,” Hermione said brightly, which caused Zabini to frown at her. 

Ron and Harry said goodbye to Hermione, and meandered up to the boys’ dormitory. Ron pretended to gag as they stepped into the spacious room.

They had assigned beds. Harry rushed to his and discovered that Malfoy was in the bed next to him. Harry cursed loudly.

“Be thankful I don’t snore,” Malfoy said behind him.

Harry turned. “How the hell do you know?”

Malfoy shrugged. “I just do, but I heard Longbottom sounds like a Muggle ship coming into harbor.”

“Don’t talk about Neville.”

“I was merely repeating what I heard.” Malfoy walked to his bed and proceeded to unpack.

Harry never unpacked. He was in the habit of just pulling out what he needed from his trunk. He watched in fascination as Malfoy gently put away his things and neatly organized his textbooks on the table next to his bed. 

_You’re being weird_ , Harry thought, and dug out his pyjamas from his trunk. He quickly changed and crawled into bed. He wanted to say goodnight to Ron, but he was too nervous to leave his bed. He didn’t want Malfoy to laugh at him. 

He buried himself under the covers and threw a pillow over his head. It’d been a long day, and he was more tired than usual. He fell asleep frowning.

*

The next morning, Draco woke up slowly. He heard low murmurs and shuffled footsteps. He turned over and opened his eyes. He was back at Hogwarts, but there was sunlight sneaking through his closed bed curtains.

The events of last night came back to him. It’d truly been bizarre. He’d have to write Mother about it the first chance he got. 

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the black curtains. Black, not green. The common room downstairs was an utter spectacle, and the eighth year table in the Great Hall was plucked straight from a dream.

He was now sleeping right next to Potter. That should’ve been a dream, too, but it wasn’t. He pushed back the curtain just a little with his wand. Yep, there was Potter, already dressed. Pity. 

But that meant Draco had to sneak past him to the toilets. He did have his dressing gown, though it had a hole at the bottom. He would have to mend it before leaving his bed.

_Stop it_ , he told himself. 

Potter didn’t care about holes or dressing gowns. He didn’t care about Draco at all. The only lot who would care was Blaise and Pansy, and well, they just had to get used to it or find another friend.

With a strike of determination, he flung open his curtains and pulled on his dressing gown and matching slippers. He knew his hair looked a mess, but he refused to care. Potter had seen him in worst predicaments.

Potter caught sight of him, and some strange expression came over his face. It was like he didn’t know how to feel. Draco glanced at him once and dashed to the door, his head down, his heart thumping. 

He ran into Blaise in the toilets. 

“The showers are nice,” Blaise said. “They don’t smell like algae like down in the dungeons.”

“You mean they don’t _need_ to smell that way?”

“I guess not. Now we know better.”

“Yeah,” Draco said, and headed for a stall.

“Your dressing gown looks like shit,” Blaise said, smirking.

Draco gave him two fingers. 

Later, down in the Great Hall, class schedules were handed out. Potions was the first class of the day, then lunch, then Transfiguration. Draco’s stomach lurched from excitement. He could actually focus on learning this year. 

“I can’t believe you’re taking Potions again,” Weasley said a few seats over. 

Potter shrugged. “It’s required if I want to be an Auror. I have to.”

“But that means you also have to pass the class, and I’m done with letting you two copy off me,” Granger said in her usual annoying voice. 

“Stop all that rubbish,” Weasley said. “I for one have proven myself capable. I don’t need to copy off you.”

“Oh, Ronald, it’s not about capability. You’re as lazy as rock when it comes to classwork.”

“Excited that Potter will be in Potions again?” Pansy whispered to Draco.

“No, of course not,” he said, uncomfortable.

She eyed him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes? I haven’t clue what you’re talking about.”

“You’re not the only one who’s gone soft for a Gryffindor.”

“I haven’t gone soft for anyone.”

“You’ve forgotten what you told me last year.”

“I haven’t forgotten a thing.”

“Sure,” she said with a grin.

He busied himself with fixing his tea. He knew exactly what she was talking about, and he damned her for having such a good memory. They had both been pissed. Draco had thought he would _die_. In the moment, he was glad he’d told her that he fancied Potter, but now it seemed like a ridiculous mistake. Best to pretend like it never happened.

He was too excited to eat much of his toast and beans. When the start of the hour neared, he gulped down his tea and gathered his things. He’d be the first one in the Potions classroom.

Draco looked for Potter as the students streamed into the classroom, and he was disappointed and slightly confused when he didn’t see him. Potter must’ve changed his mind. Shrugging, he took out his equipment and textbook. Old Slughorn rarely walked them through the instructions, so Draco studied his book for a few minutes before retrieving the ingredients.

Potter stumbled in late, and the class exploded into whispers. Draco rolled his eyes and focused back on his potion. Potter plopped down in the chair next to him.

“Sorry, the rest are taken.”

Draco didn’t look away from his cauldron. “The instructions are in the book. Page 124. _Decoria’s Sleep Serum_.”

“Sounds riveting.”

Draco snorted and carefully added his crushed Emperor Scorpion stingers.

“Glad you’re joining us, Mr Potter!” Slughorn said from the front of the class. “Don’t mind all the chatter. We’re just amazed you’re gracing us with your _incredible_ presence!”

Potter turned bright red and dashed to the supply closet. When he returned, he dropped his ingredients loudly on the table. 

Draco had been adding peacock feathers and lost count. He glared at Potter.

“Sorry,” Potter said and fumbled with his textbook. “It says here you need to add five feathers. You have two left, so it seems like you’ve already added three.”

“Yes, but I can’t remember if I just grabbed a handful of them or if I originally counted out five.” He rubbed his chin, feeling the prickly parts where his shave charm had failed him. 

“I say just go for it. Add the last two and see how it treats you.”

“We’re not all blessed with your luck, Potter.”

“It’s just a potion, Malfoy.”

Shaking his head, Draco added the last two feathers. What choice did he have? He held his breath and watched its color. He was relieved when the potion turned a bright purple. 

“That’s a nice shade,” Potter said. “I think you did the right thing.”

“Me too. Now stop talking to me.”

“Right,” Potter muttered before getting to work.

Draco tried hard to block him out, but it was just so _strange_ that they were being friendly. The things that they had said to one another over the years. The things that they had _done_ to one another. Draco still had the scars from where Potter had cursed him. Potter had almost _killed_ him.

Potter was muttering to himself. He was struggling with the prep, his hands awkward, his cutting sloppy. Frowning, Malfoy watched, not knowing what to do. It was nothing to him if Potter didn’t know how to brew.

“You cheated,” Draco said abruptly.

“What?”

“You were so good in sixth year. Slughorn _adored_ you.”

“Oh, yeah. I cheated.”

“How?”

Potter dropped his knife and gazed at him. He seemed to be debating to tell Draco the truth. 

“I found Snape’s old textbook. It had all his corrections.”

“You benefitted from all his hard work. Did he find out?”

“Oh, yeah. He was livid.” Potter smiled faintly.

For some reason, Draco suddenly felt very sad. “It’s stupid, but I miss him.” His honesty embarrassed him and he straightened his back.

Potter looked surprised, too. “You two were close?”

Draco shrugged. “No. I liked that he favored me, but it wasn’t like he was great company. He was a bit mad, even I can admit that.”

“He saved both of us.” Potter’s voice was very quiet. 

“Yes.” Draco blinked at him. He allowed himself to appreciate his good looks. He shivered a little. 

“What?” Potter stared back.

“Oh, nothing. I mean, it’s just strange, isn’t it?”

“This conversations? Yeah.” Potter laughed. 

“I could help you.”

“Help me with what?”

Draco waved vaguely. “This class.”

“Why are you offering?”

Draco hesitated. “I don’t know. Redemption?”

“You think you need to redeem yourself?”

“Of course.”

Now it was Potter’s turn to blink at him. “It’s too late.”

“Oh.”

“You could’ve been redeemed during the war. Dumbledore gave you that option.”

Stupidly, Draco felt his eyes prickle. “I know. I fucked it all up.”

“Yeah.” Potter was watching him, and his gaze was almost affectionate. No, not affectionate. He looked curious. “Okay, I’ll accept your help, but only if I can help you, too.”

“What do I need help with?” 

“Dunno. I got quite good with defensive spells.”

“Makes sense.” Draco thought for a moment. “I want to learn how to cast the Patronus charm.”

Potter laughed, and it was loud. “You should’ve joined Dumbledore’s Army!”

“Merlin, no.”

Potter continued to laugh. A few students looked at them curiously. 

“I can help you with that charm. What do you want to do after you leave school?”

“I want to brew, but I will need to know how to protect myself.”

“Why? You think people want to hurt you?”

“Loads of people want revenge. I can’t blame them,” Draco said bitterly. 

“We can’t let people hurt you. That just won’t do.”

“Have your laugh, but I’m being serious.”

“I know.” Potter smiled. “Okay, I’ll help you with defensive spells, too.”

“Thank you.” 

“Wow.”

“I know.” Draco shook his head. 

“It’s mad. Utterly mad.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Draco said with feeling, wanting to make it a joke.

Potter laughed again. “No, _thank you_ for helping me with these potions. Will you start now? I’m running out of time.”

“I suppose,” Draco said, enjoying himself. “But we need to start tonight. Meet me at the library after dinner.”

“All right.”

Potter had such a nice smile.

*

That night, after a heavy dinner of sausage pudding and red cabbage, Draco met Potter in the library.

Students filled the tables, murmuring, muffling their laughter. The lamps shone brightly, casting the book stacks in harsh shadows. Draco was grateful to be back; he was grateful that students could laugh again. Last year had been so awful.

“I’m surprised you showed,” Potter said at a small table in the back.

Draco dropped his bag in an empty chair. “Why?”

“Because you’re Draco Malfoy and I’m Harry Potter.”

“Like anyone cares about that.”

“I care.”

“Fine, _you_ care. I certainly don’t.”

Potter opened his Potions textbook. “Don’t you? We’ve never been mates.”

Draco took up the chair opposite him and retrieved his own book. “No, we haven’t.”

“But here we are.”

“Yes.” Draco flipped to the chapter they had to read. “I guess we should get the reading done first, but your technique this morning was ghastly.”

“I know. You told me many times.”

“We need to work on how you cut and slice, how you stir and pour. You need to change even how you watch the clock.”

“Thanks.” Potter gave him a tight smile.

“It’s the truth.”

“But, first, reading.”

Draco sighed. “Yes. Reading.”

They bent their heads and began to read. The silence wasn’t awkward but it wasn’t comfortable either. Every now and then, Draco glanced at the other tables. Some students _were_ interested in the fact that Malfoy and Potter were reading together. Honestly, Draco couldn’t blame them.

“Where’re your mates?” Draco said.

“Huh?” Potter looked up.

“Granger and Weasley. Where are they?”

“Dunno. Probably snogging somewhere.”

Draco grimaced. “I regret asking.”

Potter laughed. “Where’re your mates? Please don’t tell me Parkinson and Goyle are dating.”

“What? No!” Draco couldn’t fathom it. “The truth is I haven’t a clue where they are.”

“Not even Goyle? He used to follow you around all the time. He was like your shadow.”

“Yes, well, things change.”

“Are you not mates anymore?”

“Of course we’re mates. He’s just exploring other options. It’s fine. Really.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean?”

Potter hesitated. “Why is he exploring other options? Is it because of Crabbe?”

Draco looked away. He hated thinking about Vincent.

“I’m sorry,” Potter said quietly. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Draco pulled his book closer. He read the same sentence over and over, hoping that Potter got the message. Potter sighed and returned to his book, too. Draco’s heart beat very quickly, and it was only after a good ten minutes that he settled down enough to truly focus on the words. 

When they’d finished the chapter, Potter looked at Draco excitedly.

“So, what’s first?”

“I know just the thing.” Draco got up from the table and wandered into the book stacks. He reemerged holding a book for first years. He dropped it down in front of Potter.

“I already know this stuff!” Potter was aghast.

“No, you don’t, and that book is the best at describing brewing technique. Read it by Friday and I’ll meet you down in the dungeons to go over what you learned.”

“Damn you.” Potter slid the book into his bag. “Don’t you have anything better to do this weekend?”

“Not really.” Draco raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Yeah, of course!” Potter frowned, thinking. “I need to . . . I dunno . . . practice Quidditch.”

“No, you don’t! You heard McGonagall this morning.”

“Right,” Potter said, “I almost forgot.”

“It’s stupid. It’s unfair.”

“Unfair to us, maybe. Not unfair to the children.”

Draco blinked at the students around them. Yes, he supposed they were children. Especially when compared to the eighth years.

“I might see your point.”

Potter grinned. “Good.”

“Why are you doing this? Why do your marks suddenly mean something to you?” 

“They’ve always meant something to me.”

“Rubbish! You never paid attention in class. You were always messing about with Weasley.”

“I didn’t know you were so aware of me.”

Draco almost blushed. “Everyone was aware of you. You were always doing mad things. Always getting away with mad things. It was hard to ignore you.”

“And now?” 

Draco looked at him, his stomach twisting. Potter had no idea what he was doing, what he was implying. 

Draco gulped. “And now we sleep next to one another. It’s impossible to ignore you.”

“Brilliant.” Potter grinned, his eyes beautiful, but suddenly his face changed. “Last year, I was so useless.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know how to do anything. I was so unprepared to face Voldemort.”

Draco flinched. “I don’t understand. You succeeded. You killed him.”

“Yeah, but by pure luck. I would’ve died if it weren’t for Hermione and Dumbledore and Snape.”

“You still did what none of us could do.” 

“I don’t want to ever be that unprepared again. I don’t ever want to be that defenseless again.” Potter sat back in his chair. He seemed to be gritting his teeth. “If I’m serious about being an Auror, then I’m going to do it right. I’m going to take my studies seriously. I’m going to focus on more than just Defense. I will be well-rounded and competent.” 

“I could teach you some healing spells.”

Potter blinked at him. “Really? Along with the potions?”

Draco hesitated. His offer embarrassed him. “Yeah . . . if you want.”

Potter looked away. “I do need to learn more healing spells.”

“I’m sure Granger could teach you.”

“Yeah but she’s busy with her own problems. I’ve relied too much on her.”

“Then I will do it.”

“What do you want in exchange?” Potter looked at him, and his eyes were so fucking green. 

Draco smirked. The things he could demand from Potter. The things he _wanted_ to demand from him. 

“What is it?” Potter said.

“Nothing.” Draco shook his head. “I don’t need anything from you.”

“Except you need me to teach you the Patronus charm.”

“Yes.”

Potter yawned loudly and leaned back in his chair. “I’m knackered.”

“Let’s go to bed then.” Draco realized what he’d said and blushed faintly.

Potter didn’t seem to notice. He collected his belongings and gave Draco a cheerful smile. “See you up there.”

“Yeah,” Draco breathed.

*

Harry couldn’t explain it. There was no explanation as to why he and Malfoy were suddenly getting along.

“It makes sense to me,” Hermione said.

“Of course.” Ron shook his head.

“Malfoy feels _guilty_. I would’ve been more shocked if he came back and was mean to you.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, twirling his quill. 

They were in the common room at the Ravenclaw table. It was a few days after he’d met up with Malfoy in the library, and he was still a bit stunned that they’d succeeded in having a civil conversation.

“Maybe he’s up to something,” Ron said.

Harry and Hermione groaned.

“That’s my line, mate,” Harry said. “And, no, I don’t think Malfoy’s _up to something_.”

“Thank God.” Hermione wrote a line of her Transfiguration essay. She was nearly finished, and Harry hadn’t even started.

“Then it’s a damn miracle and I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Ron said, grumpy.

“Oh, Ronald. I hope you’re not jealous.”

Harry shifted in his seat. “What does he have to be jealous about?”

“Yeah, I’m not jealous! Far from it!”

Hermione shrugged. She pushed their Transfiguration books to them. “Actually read the chapter before starting the essay, will you? McGonagall has too much on her plate to have to deal with your lazy schoolwork.”

“I was going to read!” Ron said.

Harry opened the book, not saying anything. 

Zabini came in through the portrait and held up an empty wine bottle. “Who wants to play spin the bottle?”

“Oh!” Hermione said, clapping her hands. “I’ve never played this with witches and wizards.”

“You’ve played it with Muggles?” Ron said, suspicious.

“Of course,” she said, and headed to the middle of the room where Zabini and Parkinson were pushing the furniture against the walls to make space for a big circle.

Harry was both excited and scared to play. There’d been no time for games like this during the war, and he was out of practice. He looked at Malfoy, wondering what he’d dare him to do if he got the chance.

Most of the eighth years chose to play, even Bulstrode, who was unlucky to have the first spin land on her. 

Parkinson gave a predatory grin and said, “I dare you to kiss Granger.”

“No way!” Bulstrode said immediately.

“Come on, Mill! Kiss Granger. We all know you want to.”

Bulstrode gave Parkinson a nasty glare and stormed up to the girls’ dormitory. Hermione stood to go after her, but Parkinson stopped her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she said. “Mill likes to throw curses when she’s hurt.”

“ _I’m_ not the one who hurt her!” Hermione looked like she was about to throw her own curse.

“Calm down, Granger. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Why do you have to be nasty?” Hermione said, sitting back down.

Parkinson shrugged. “I can be a lot worse. You know that, Granger.”

“Can we all not be dickheads?” Zabini said. “This game was my idea and I’d rather not have drama.”

“I thought you liked drama?” Parkinson said.

“Not that kind. Now sit down before I ask you to leave.”

“Merlin,” Parkinson huffed. She plopped back down next to Malfoy, who seemed to be interested despite himself. He glanced at the girl’s dormitory. 

“Okay, I’ll spin for Mill,” Zabini said, and spun the bottle. It whirled around and around before stopping at Malfoy. Zabini smiled devilishly. He stroked his chin, thinking. 

“I dare Draco to kiss Longbottom.”

“What!” Neville said, blushing hard.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “That’s easy.”

“No, it’s not!” Neville said.

Harry’s stomach twisted as he watched. For some reason, he was excited to see Malfoy and Neville kiss.

“Let’s get it over with,” Malfoy said, and crawled over to Neville, whose eyes had gone wide in fear.

Neville laughed shakily. “Fine, yeah. No big deal.”

They came together, Malfoy angling his head. Their lips touched, and Harry was riveted. Malfoy looked so _pretty_ kissing Neville: his lips were pink, his eyes fluttering. Some of his white-blond hair fell forward, and Harry wanted Neville to brush it away from his face.

Neville jerked back, still blushing. He laughed nervously.

Malfoy went back to his spot next to Zabini, utterly unmoved. He wasn’t even blushing. 

“I think you made a fan,” Zabini said to Malfoy.

Malfoy rolled his eyes again. “We just did what _you_ wanted. If anyone liked it, it was you.”

“True,” Zabini said, then pushed the bottle to him. “Your turn to spin.”

The bottle landed on Dean, but Harry was too distracted to pay attention. He couldn’t take his eyes off Malfoy. It was like he was seeing the bloke for the very first time.

Ron nudged him. “Look! Dean is about to kiss Goyle’s _toe_.”

“Gross,” Harry said vaguely. He stared and stared until Malfoy glanced his way. Their eyes met briefly before they both hastily looked away. 

Harry pulled at the rug, thinking. His mind whirled, and he didn’t know how to stop it. Malfoy was ugly. He was disgusting. He was a nasty person with cold eyes and a stupid pointed chin. He looked like he smelled of ancient dust and spoiled milk. 

But, when Harry looked at him, he knew that wasn’t true. Not anymore. Malfoy was attractive. He was _gorgeous_. He was like Cedric Diggory. Why weren’t all the girls throwing themselves at him? Didn’t they see it too?

Harry thought about seeing it. Girls and Malfoy. Malfoy snogging them in the corridors and sneaking behind the greenhouses with them. Malfoy with a hand up their skirt and his mouth on their throat. 

Harry gulped many times. God. _God._

He stood abruptly. “Sorry, not feeling well,” he said, terribly awkward. He went up to the dormitory without looking back. He didn’t understand what any of it meant.

*

Later, after everyone had gone to sleep, Harry was awakened by a cry. He lay still, not sure where it’d come from. When he heard it again, he sat up and peeked through his bed curtains.

No one was awake. Ron and Neville were snoring loudly. He heard it again. The cry was low, desperate. He crept from bed and listened hard.

Thrashing noise came from Malfoy’s bed. Harry hesitated, not sure what he should do. He didn’t want to invade his privacy. 

Malfoy gave another cry, louder this time, and Harry rushed to his bed. He pushed back his curtains and found him twisting in his sleep, his mouth open, his hands jerking against the sheets.

He was crying.

Harry froze. He just stared, not sure what to do. It was inappropriate and not very nice, but he liked seeing Malfoy like this. He liked seeing him vulnerable. 

Without really thinking about it, he crawled into bed with Malfoy. Immediately, Malfoy calmed down. He shifted toward Harry like he sensed his presence.

Harry did what he wished Neville had done and smoothed Malfoy’s hair from his face. Malfoy sighed and pressed closer. 

Harry became aware that he lay next to a boy, a _man_ , and it was different than being next to Ron. It was strange and utterly surprising, but he wanted to kiss Malfoy. He wanted to kiss him like Neville had kissed him. He wanted to kiss him like he’d kissed Ginny. 

He wondered if he would’ve come to that conclusion without seeing Neville and Malfoy kiss. He supposed so. Months and months from now, after everyone else had figured it out and he was the only one with his head still up his arse. He was glad that he knew now, even if it scared him, even if it made him doubt everything about his life.

Malfoy murmured and threw his arm around Harry. He must’ve been used to sleeping beside someone, because his body was now completely relaxed. 

Harry didn’t move closer. He didn’t touch him again. Malfoy would probably be mortified if he knew Harry had done this, and Harry didn’t want to cause harm. He just wanted to comfort him.

An hour or so passed. Harry remained still, but his back began to ache. His eyes drooped. He didn’t want to fall asleep like this. 

Finally, he inched from Malfoy and let his arm drop back to the bed. He watched him, hoping to God he didn’t wake up. Malfoy frowned, but his eyes remained closed.

Harry let himself look once last time. He itched to touch Malfoy again, to press his lips against his warm forehead, but instead he pulled his curtains closed and went back to his own bed.

*

When Friday rolled around, Harry was nervous to be alone with Malfoy. He tried hard to hide his nerves, but it was damn near impossible to keep anything from Hermione.

“What’s the big secret?” she asked at breakfast.

“There’s no secret,” he answered, glancing at Ron.

She calmly cut into her sausage. “You’re fretting. There’s a secret.” 

“It’s not a secret; not exactly.” He lowered his voice. “I’m just meeting Malfoy tonight to go over brewing and spell technique, and I reckon I’m nervous.”

“I’d be nervous, too,” Ron said. “Why the hell are you doing it?”

“Dunno. I just want to.”

Hermione shook her head, exasperated. “You rarely think things through. How can you be striking up a friendship with Malfoy without knowing _why_ you’re doing it?”

Harry jabbed his fork into his yolky egg. “Maybe I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh.” Hermione sounded apologetic. “I see.”

Ron looked at Hermione, then at Harry. “What the hell is going on?”

“Nothing,” she said.

“Yeah, nothing.” Harry stood up and gathered his things. “Don’t look for me tonight. I’ve got plans.”

“Hey!” Ron said. “Explain what’s going on!”

Harry grinned and gave him two fingers. He walked away. He was headed for Defense Against the Dark Arts, but he didn’t like the new professor. Professor Winkle was old and too cautious and he understood why McGonagall had hired her. Nobody had the stomach for truly thinking about the Dark Arts right now. It was like a nan teaching Defense. 

Oh, well. He would just have to focus on his other studies more.

*

That night, the dungeons were dark and cold. It had rained all day and now the underground stone gave off a wet chill. Harry pulled his robes tight and tried not to think of Snape.

Malfoy waited for him in a small chamber next to the Slytherin common room. The space was filled with broken cauldrons and tarnished scales. On a rickety table, Malfoy had placed his own cauldron and other brewing equipment. He was in the middle of neatly laying out the potion ingredients. 

“Hi,” Harry said.

Malfoy’s head shot up. “I didn’t hear you come in. Shut the door.”

Harry did what he was told and ventured closer. He dropped his bag next to the table but stood an arm’s length away. He was ashamed and awkward that he’d crawled into Malfoy’s bed when he was asleep, and it was affecting the way he interacted with him. He also remembered how he’d wanted to kiss Malfoy. He moved away even more.

“Come closer,” Malfoy said, irritated. “You can’t see from that distance.”

“I read the book,” Harry said, moving just a little closer.

“Did you take notes?”

“I was supposed to do that?”

“Merlin.” Malfoy stopped what he was doing to look at him. “What did you learn?”

“I don’t hold my knife properly.”

“No, you don’t. What else?”

“I need to remember to turn down the flame the longer the potion brews because cauldrons heat up and I need to maintain the correct temperature.”

“That’s a crucial thing to remember. Many novices forget to do it.”

Harry cocked his head. “You should be a Potions professor.”

Draco groaned and shoved a pile of cockroaches at him. “I’ve asked Slughorn about our first project so we can start early. We’re making the _Green Liver_ elixir.”

“Sounds appetizing.”

“It’s a cure for boils.”

“Lovely.”

“As you’ve probably already guessed, its main ingredient are magical toad livers, which funny enough are green.”

“Poor toads.”

“I think they only kill the sick ones.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Harry said.

“Yeah, well that’s our project. You can begin your crusade to save all the toads _after_ we finish.”

“Can’t wait,” Harry muttered. He picked up a cockroach. “Don’t tell me. We need to remove the limbs and heads, then crush just the bodies.”

“You are learning!” Malfoy said, smirking. 

“Shut up.” Harry grabbed a handful of cockroaches and a small knife. “How many to do we crush?”

“Fifteen. Use the blade of your knife to do the crushing.”

“Yes, sir.”

Malfoy glared at him. “Just in case you want to read the instructions for yourself, I have them here.” He waved a parchment. “There’s two steps involved in the brew. It’s complicated, so pay attention. First, we boil the cockroaches and livers for a week, maybe even two. I’ll have to keep an eye on the color. Then we add the midnight poppies and the horned bark.”

“Sounds simple enough.” Harry was carefully dismembering the roaches. 

“Yes, but I want to use fresh poppies and bark.”

“Will we order them?”

“No, we need to get them from the Forbidden Forest.”

Harry paused his work. “I don’t know if I can go back there. It’s where . . . you know.”

“Yes, I know,” Malfoy said softly. “I can go alone. I don’t mind.”

“You shouldn’t go alone. It’s dangerous.”

“I don’t want to force you to do anything.”

Harry gnawed his lower lip. “No, I’ll go. It’s okay. I have to face it sometime.”

Malfoy’s gaze was intense. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” Harry said, and focused on his work.

*

It was much later, when Harry was in bed and all the other eighth year boys were asleep, that he heard Malfoy crying again. Harry was torn. He should wake him up or something, not crawl back into bed with him.

Long minutes passed as he debated. It was strange he was the only one hearing it. He probably wasn’t. Zabini was probably hidden behind his curtains, listening and not doing anything. He was probably waiting for Harry to slip into bed with Malfoy again. Just one more thing to use to manipulate and ridicule.

Throwing off his duvet, Harry shoved open his curtains and stomped over to Malfoy’s bed. He didn’t care if he made noise. The whole dorm could see this. He pushed back the curtains and there was Malfoy, so pale that he damn near glowed. He was crying, and the tears were visible on his cheeks. Poor bloke. He was complicit in what Voldemort had done, but it must’ve been torture to live in the Manor with him and all his monsters. What had Malfoy seen? What had he done to save his family? He’d been a coward, but Harry could understand it now. Not everyone had Gryffindor bravery. 

But Malfoy had his own type of bravery, didn’t he? He hadn’t given up Harry. He’d protected him. He’d made friends with Luna when she was held captive. His bravery had been weak, quiet. It’d been a skittish sort of thing, but it was still bravery. Harry was thankful to Malfoy and his mum. He was thankful to all the two-faced Slytherins who had helped him just a little. He owed his life to Snape, who’d done much more than just keep quiet about Harry’s whereabouts. He’d sacrificed his life. 

Malfoy rolled toward him, his arm now draped over the side of the bed. He whimpered and thrashed a little. Hesitating, Harry smoothed the soft hair from his forehead. Malfoy sighed and his eyes fluttered. Harry wanted to touch him more, but he didn’t let himself. He just caressed his head for a few minutes, watching his face. Malfoy stopped shaking and his expression finally relaxed. He was peaceful when Harry touched him.

Malfoy had kicked free of his duvet, which left his body exposed. A bit of his hip and stomach was showing, his pyjama shirt another victim of his thrashing. Harry wanted to kiss his bare skin. He wanted to taste it. 

He stared at Malfoy’s mouth, his throat. His eyes moved down. He wondered what Malfoy’s cock looked like.

He dropped his hand and hastily closed Malfoy’s curtains. He was getting hard and it was wrong. Normal people didn’t get a stiffy while watching somebody sleep. He shouldn’t have been watching him in the first place.

No, he needed to stop it. He would talk to Malfoy about his nightmares. Maybe help him look for a good dreamless sleep serum. Yes, that was the right thing to do.

He headed back to bed, his stiffy only a little wilted. He would have a silent wank and be done with it.

*

It was a few days later when Harry stumbled on Ginny and Bulstrode. He was hurrying to the dungeons to check on the potion when he spotted Ginny’s red ponytail. His steps slowed. He’d been avoiding her, and he didn’t know what he’d say to her.

He rounded a corner and there they were, pressed against the wall, snogging, their arms wrapped around each other. His mouth dropped open. Ginny fancied girls. She fancied Millicent Bulstrode. 

He made a loud sound and they jumped apart. Ginny’s face went white when she saw him. Bulstrode pointed her wand at him.

“Don’t come any closer!” Bulstrode said.

He raised his hands, his wand still in his pocket. “I’m not going to attack you.”

“Harry,” Ginny said, her voice strained. “I can explain.”

“You don’t have to explain,” he said, hating that she was obviously so scared. “I will forget I saw anything.”

Ginny pressed forward. “Harry, please.”

“Really, I’m okay with it.” He tried smiling, but his lips felt like stone. He was shocked, that was all. Malfoy had eclipsed any feeling he had for her, but he still wasn’t comfortable with what he’d just seen.

“Let me talk to you. It will only take a moment.” Ginny looked at Bulstrode, communicating wordlessly. Bulstrode rolled her eyes and stomped away. 

“She doesn’t like you talking to me,” Harry said.

“My ex is the most famous wizard in the world. It’s understandable.”

“Yeah,” he said, awkward.

She looked into his face, pleading. “You can’t tell Ron about this.”

“Oh.” He frowned. “It didn’t even cross my mind.”

“My parents can’t know either.”

“When did it start?” he asked abruptly.

She looked away. “Last year. I dunno. I like both, you know, and I – uh – Mill was there for me when no one else was.”

His throat tightened. “I’m sorry, Gin. I wish I could’ve protected you better. I wish –”

“Oh, stop. You were off saving the world.”

“Yes, but saving the world cost me a lot.”

She looked at him, suddenly a little curious. “People are talking, you know.”

“They are always talking. What’s this week’s rumor?”

Now she seemed sheepish. “They say that there’s something going on between you and Malfoy.”

Harry wavered on his feet. “What? Just because we study together now?”

“It’s mostly the Slytherins who are saying it.”

“That’s even worse! They should know Malfoy could never . . . you know.”

“Supposedly he told somebody that he fancied you.”

“What? When?” 

“Dunno. It’s all very vague.”

Harry’s heart was thumping hard, but he didn’t let himself trust it. These were just rumors. People made up rumors to be cruel.

She was watching his face closely. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Huh?”

“You fancy Malfoy. I can tell.”

He stepped back. He didn’t know what to say. 

“I won’t tell anyone.” She smiled. “I’m relieved, actually. I do care for you, Harry, and I’m glad that you’ve moved on.”

He gulped a few times. This was a deciding moment, he could tell. He didn’t want to hide. He’d done enough hiding last year. He didn’t want to lie about his feelings, about his desires, but he also didn’t want to lose friends because of it. What if he told everyone and it spooked Malfoy? What if he told everyone and his feelings turned out to just be a phase?

“I think you should tell him,” Ginny said.

Harry shook his head. “No.”

“Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?”

He gave her a sarcastic look. “We’re talking about Draco Malfoy here. A lot of bad things could happen.”

“Yeah, he might make taunting pins again. The _horror_.” She smiled affectionately.

“Fuck,” he said, turning away from her. He rubbed a hard hand over his face. “I don’t know what happen. It’s all been so sudden.”

She laughed, and it was loud. “It hasn’t been sudden! You two have been sizing each other up for years. Circling each other, staring at each other. Remember your sixth year? Even when we were snogging you’d bring him up.”

“That’s because I thought he was a Death Eater! And I was right!”

“It was still an obsession.”

“I didn’t do it because I _fancied_ him or something.”

She shrugged. “Feelings are weird. At the very least, you were fascinated with him. He distracted you.”

“Only because he was always being cruel. He was desperate for attention.”

“He was desperate for _your_ attention.”

Harry turned back to her. “I’ve never really thought about it that way. You could still be wrong, though.”

“You will never find out if you don’t stop being a coward. Just ask him.”

“No, I can’t. I’m not ready.”

Sighing, she said, “Well, don’t wait too long. It’s not like Malfoy’s ugly. There’s probably loads of blokes who want to date him.”

“Like what happened with you and Dean.”

“Yeah, you berk. I liked you for years, and it was only after I started getting boyfriends that you took any notice.”

“Sorry,” he said.

She shook her head, smiling again. “Water under the bridge. I have to go find Mill now.” She moved down the corridor.

“Gin,” he said, stopping her. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Of course. See you around.” She rounded a corner and was gone. 

He rubbed hard at his face again. He couldn’t believe he’d told her. For a moment, he let himself panic, but then he took a deep breath and stood taller. He was used to people thinking ridiculous things about him. How many times had the world thought he was a murderer? How many articles had been written about his dark downfalls? This was nothing compared to that. He just wanted to shag Malfoy. That was all.

That was all.

He marched toward the little chamber with the potion, determined not to care. He just had to find a way to tell Hermione and Ron.

*

The next night, Harry and Malfoy were in a deserted classroom, this time finally focusing on spells instead of potions. Malfoy was eager to learn how to cast his own _Patronus_ , and Harry was eager to find out what shape it took.

When they were alone, it didn’t matter if it was good or bad. Harry could look all he wanted and Malfoy let him. 

“ _Relax_ ,” Harry said, standing closer.

Malfoy breathed hard. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“You’re distracting me. I can’t think.”

“You cast Patronus charms in a crisis. You’ll always be distracted.”

Malfoy gritted his teeth. “I know. This is different.”

Harry moved even closer, his chest almost brushing Malfoy’s arm. Malfoy was blushing hard, and the color spread to his neck. God, he had soft-looking skin. It was like Ginny’s skin but more delicate. Harry couldn’t explain it. 

“Think of your happiest memory. Concentrate.”

“I can’t,” Malfoy croaked.

“You can.”

“Potter, don’t ask me why, but you need to get away from me. If you want me to cast this damn thing, then you can’t be so bloody close to me.”

“All right,” Harry said, disappointed. He stepped back.

“Farther.”

“You want me to be across the room?”

“Yeah, actually.”

Harry headed for the opposite wall. He sat down on a rickety chair, sad to be so far away. “Try now.”

Taking a deep breath, Malfoy closed his eyes. His expression was hard for a moment, like he struggled to focus on a memory; then it softened and a small smile curled his lips. Harry leaned forward in his chair. 

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” His wand produced a little wisp of light.

Harry stood. “Almost there! Again.”

Malfoy took another deep breath. He concentrated again and raised his wand. “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” More light erupted from his wand.

“Again!”

“It’s not working!”

“You’ve got to believe!”

“Rubbish,” Malfoy muttered, his eyes still closed.

Harry wanted to go to him. He wanted to run his fingers through his hair, comforting him. But he didn’t move. “You can do it,” he said softly.

“I know that!”

“Let’s see then.”

Malfoy muttered and shifted his feet. He raised his wand, even though he didn’t look happy about it. “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” 

This time no light came from his wand. Malfoy opened his eyes.

“We should stop for tonight. You need a break.”

Malfoy looked disappointed. “All right.”

Harry approached him, even though he didn’t have anything to say. They stared at one another and Harry’s stomach fluttered.

“You did well,” Harry said finally.

“Liar.” Malfoy didn’t look away.

Harry saw himself do it. He saw himself leaning in and kissing Malfoy. It’d be so easy. Malfoy would be stunned, but maybe he’d like it. His lips looked soft. They were thinner than Ginny’s, but they still looked inviting. 

No, no. Most people weren’t like Harry. Most boys didn’t want to kiss other boys. 

Sighing, Harry moved toward the door. He just hoped he stopped thinking about Malfoy like this. He just wanted everything to go back to normal.

“Want to walk back together?” Malfoy said behind him.

Harry shrugged. “Come on then.”

Back in the common room, Harry found Ron and Hermione by the fire. He plopped down next to them.

“How did it go?” Hermione asked.

“Did you curse each other?” Ron said.

“Nope.” Harry leaned back in the chair. “It went fine, actually. Malfoy almost produced a Patronus.”

Ron grinned. “Almost.”

“That’s quite good for his first try,” Hermione said.

“We can do it and Malfoy can’t!” Ron gave a giddy laugh. 

“Stop,” Harry said, smiling. He understood why Ron took such delight in Malfoy failing. Only a while ago, he would’ve done the same.

Zabini slid up next to them. “We’re having a party tomorrow tonight.” His smile was teasing. 

“Who’s we?” Ron asked, his eyebrow raised.

“The Slytherins, of course. We are inviting all the eighth years.”

“Where will it be held?” Harry asked.

Zabini waved a bored hand. “Where else?”

“It’s rich of you to not give us a choice,” Ron said. “Maybe the rest of us don’t want to hold a party in here.”

“Come off it, Weasley. There’ll be _booze_. Naughty games. Maybe even some girls taking their knickers off.”

Weasley went pink. “Which girls? It definitely won’t be Hermione.”

Zabini grimaced. “You’re the only one who fancies seeing Granger’s knickers.”

“Hey!” Hermione said.

“Who then?” Harry asked, glancing around. “I don’t want to see Bulstrode’s knickers either.” _But Gin wants to._

Zabini blinked at him. “Are you sure you want to see a _girl’s_ knickers, Potter?”

“What?” Harry said.

“Just come to the party. Eight o’clock. It’s not like you have much of a choice.” Zabini slinked away. 

“He’s a weird bloke, isn’t he?” Ron said.

“Yeah,” Harry said faintly. He was still stuck on what Zabini had implied.

“I’m excited,” Hermione said.

“Why? So other blokes can see your knickers?” Ron huffed.

“ _No_. We’ll probably play spin the bottle. Last time was loads of fun.”

“I have a strange request,” Harry said, acting on a whim. 

Ron and Hermione looked at him expectantly. He gulped.

“If we do play spin the bottle, try your hardest to get the bottle to land on me.”

“Why?” Ron said.

“Because . . . because I want you to dare me to sleep in the same bed as Malfoy.”

“WHAT!”

“Lower your voice, Ronald,” Hermione said. 

Ron was sputtering. “But . . . it’s _Malfoy_. Blimey, Harry, but that’s like you asking me to dare you to sleep with a smelly troll.”

“I know it’s weird, but I have my reasons.”

Hermione eyed him. “And what are they?”

Harry hesitated. He was ready to tell them only half of the truth. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?” When they nodded, he continued. “Malfoy has terrible nightmares. They wake me up all the time. This one time, I went to his bed to wake him up, but I ended up falling asleep next to him.”

“Merlin,” Ron said, looking like he’d faint. 

“Yeah, I already said it’s weird. I know me sleeping next to him is mental, but it really helped him. I dunno. I want to do that for him again.”

Hermione sighed. “Harry, if you fancy Malfoy, _just tell him_. You’ll get nowhere playing these games.”

Ron fell out of his chair. 

Harry stared at Hermione, not knowing what to say. 

“I’m sorry if I shocked you,” she said, her voice brittle, “but somebody had to state the obvious.”

“It’s _obvious_?” Harry was going to sick up.

“What’s happening?” Ron said from the floor.

“Get up,” Hermione said. “Stop being so dramatic.”

Ron pulled himself into a chair, his eyes wide. “There’s no possible way. Harry fancies my _sister_!”

“It’s possible to like both,” Hermione said stiffly.

Harry was blushing. He was sure he was going to die from the embarrassment. “Hermione, please,” he whispered.

“Just tell him!”

“There’s nothing to say! I don’t fancy Malfoy!” It killed Harry to lie to them, but he was panicking. Hermione had known and instead of asking him about it in private, she blurted it out in front of Ron.

“Stop being stupid! We all know you fancy him!”

Harry jumped up. “Ron doesn’t know! Stop exaggerating! You haven’t a clue what you’re talking about!”

“Don’t raise your voice at me!”

Most of the common room was staring at them. Someone yelled: “Keep it down! We’re trying to study!”

“Sod off!” Harry yelled back.

“Is there something wrong?” It was Malfoy. “I thought I heard my name.”

Harry took one look at him and threw his arms up. “Christ!” He stormed up to the dormitory, not looking back. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Hermione said to Malfoy.

In the dormitory, Harry fell back onto his bed. He glared. How dare Hermione do that to him? She was always complaining that he wasn’t sensitive enough, but that had been downright cruel! 

She had no idea how scared Harry was. He just wanted to kiss Malfoy in private. Just once. Just to see if all this turmoil was worth it.

The door opened and Harry bolted up, ready for a fight, but it was Malfoy and not Ron. 

Malfoy calmly closed the door and approached his bed. “Are you all right?”

“Why do you care?”

“No idea, Potter. I thought I’d attempt to be helpful.”

He deflated. “Sorry.”

Malfoy motioned vaguely to his bed. “Mind if I sit down?”

“Are you sure?”

Malfoy frowned. “You rather me pull up a chair?”

“No, don’t bother. Just sit down.”

Malfoy sat down, and he was stiff. They didn’t speak for an awkward moment.

“Lovely conversation,” Harry said sarcastically. 

“What do you want to talk about?”

Harry twisted his sheets with his hands. “Nothing.”

“Would you rather be alone?” Malfoy gazed at him steadily.

“No.”

There was another stretch of silence. Suddenly, Harry said, “We should start calling each other by our first names.”

Malfoy frowned. “Why?”

“Because it’s what mates do.”

“And we’re mates?”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

Harry itched to do something. He bounced his leg. He could barely look at Malfoy. “Yeah, we’re friendly now. We help each other out. You should call me Harry.”

“Merlin.”

“What? It’s a perfectly okay name.”

“It’s just so . . . _common_.”

“Oi! At least my name isn’t Dragon!”

“It’s not my fault I was born a Malfoy.”

“Draco,” Harry whispered, which made Malfoy stiffen. “Now you say my name.”

Malfoy gulped. His cheeks were turning pink. After a beat, he whispered back: “Harry.”

Harry wanted to kiss him. He wanted to just lean in and _do it_. They sat close together, almost touching. There was something different going on between them; it couldn’t all be in his head.

“Why were you having a row with Granger and Weasley?”

“Oh.” For some reason, Harry hadn’t expected this question. “It’s stupid.”

Malfoy watched him. “I want to know.”

Harry stared back, and it was the first time that he really noticed Malfoy’s eyes. The shade and shape. They weren’t cold or icy; they were clear and bright, and a breathtaking grey. 

“I asked them to dare us to sleep in the same bed.”

“Oh.” Now Malfoy was really blushing; his cheeks were almost red. “Oh.”

“I hope you don’t think it’s too weird.”

“It’s not weird . . . it’s . . .” Malfoy punched him in the shoulder. “Are you sure you’re Harry Potter? I need proof that you’re not some random person drinking a potion to look like him.”

Harry laughed, but Malfoy looked at him expectantly. “Seriously? You want proof?”

“Yes.”

He thought for a moment. “I can tell you what you were saying to Moaning Myrtle in the toilet before I nearly killed you.”

“Okay, that’s enough. I believe you now.”

“I’m sorry, you know. I was so stupid to use that curse on you.”

“I was trying to kill Dumbledore and let in Death Eaters. I had it coming.”

He tilted his head. “You really think that?”

Malfoy looked away, his jaw pulsing. “Yes.”

“You made some awful mistakes.”

“Yes.”

“But you know now that you shouldn’t have done any of it.”

“Of course.”

“And not just because Voldemort died.”

“No.” Malfoy looked back at him. He had a strange expression on his face. “I can’t believe you did it. I can’t believe you killed him.”

“Like I said, I had loads of help.”

“You’re the most powerful wizard in the world.”

“No, I’m not. I just got lucky.”

“The most powerful wizard in the world wants to sleep in the same bed as me.”

“You used to hate me. Remember _Potter Stinks_?”

“I also used to want you dead.”

“Thanks for reminding me.”

Malfoy smiled a little. “I was a moron. I was a stupid, stupid prat.”

“Please, go on.”

Malfoy hit him again, not hard, his hand lingering for a moment. “You haven’t explained why, you know. Why you wanted to sleep in the same bed as me.”

“It’s because you have nightmares.”

Malfoy blinked. “You know about that?”

“They wake me up.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Harry licked his lips, not sure how to explain. “It was only a few times, but I – uh – I comforted you.”

Malfoy’s eyes were wide. “What?”

“It was only once, but I laid down next to you and that really calmed you down. The next time I just – uh – touched your head.”

“What!” Malfoy jumped up. He towered over Harry. “Why would you do that?”

“I’m sorry! I know it was wrong. I just wanted to help you and it did!”

Malfoy shoved him back on the bed. Harry grabbed his sleeve and Malfoy fell with him. Malfoy gasped and tried to roll away, but Harry wrapped his arms around him.

“What are you doing?” Malfoy said, strained.

“I don’t know.” Harry’s heart was beating very fast. “Just – don’t move.”

“I can’t.” Malfoy was gritting his teeth.

Harry pressed closer. “Do you like it?”

“You’re the one who won’t let me go!”

“Draco.”

“Fuck.” Malfoy dropped his head to Harry’s shoulder. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Stay with me.”

“Because you want to _comfort_ me?”

Harry slid his hands up and down on his back. “Yeah.”

Malfoy made a noise in his throat and relaxed against him. His breath was very warm on Harry’s neck.

Harry wanted to touch Malfoy’s bare skin. He wanted to get his hands under his robes and feel his warm, warm back. He wanted to kiss him. God, did he want to kiss him. He want to thrust up and feel his cock through his trousers.

Malfoy jerked away, suddenly, violently. He landed on the floor.

“What’s the matter?” Harry asked, peering over the side of the bed. 

“Nothing.” Malfoy’s voice quivered a bit. He stood up and dusted off his robes. “I just don’t want you to touch me like that.”

“Sorry.” He looked down, disappointed. “Will you still sleep beside me? I don’t want you to have any nightmares.”

Malfoy was staring at him like he was some sort of puzzle. “What’s everyone going to say when they hear about it?”

“I don’t care what they say.”

“Blaise will be _shocked_. He’ll taunt you for the rest of your life.”

“I don’t care what Zabini says to me.”

“I care what people say to me.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “I guess it was a stupid idea to begin with.”

Malfoy glanced at the door. “Maybe nobody has to know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean . . . maybe I can sneak into your bed. Late. When everyone else is asleep.”

“Yeah?” His heart was thumping hard again.

Malfoy carded his fingers through his hair, nervous. “This is mad. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. Me and you.”

“I know.” Harry bit his lip. “Are you still going to do it?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Tonight?”

Malfoy smiled at him. “Yes.”


	2. Part Two

Draco couldn’t believe that he’d agreed to do it. He was going to sleep next to Potter. He was going to sneak to his bed and slip between sheets that were warm from his body.

Merlin. He was fucked.

The only reason why he’d agreed was because he wanted to shag Potter. There, he admitted it. He wanted to shag him. There was no point in denying it. He’d collected all those newspaper clippings of his face, not just because he was the Chosen One, but because he fancied him. 

Potter had been so earnest. He was so sweet when he wasn’t busy being a dickhead. He _worried_ about Draco. He worried about his nightmares.

 _Harry Potter cares about me_ , he thought, and laughed. He was in the toilets and his voice bounced off all the stone. He stood in front of the mirror. It was after a shower and he was trying to shave.

He usually didn’t groom at night, but the prospect of sharing a bed with Potter made him giddy, nervous. He wanted to look good even if Potter wouldn’t appreciate it.

Frowning, Draco carefully ran his wand over his chin, muttering a shaving spell. He did the same for his top lip. His facial hair was still light, but he didn’t want to miss any spots.

He stepped back to scrutinize himself in the mirror. His body was all right, but his nose was still too pointy. He was glad that he’d gained weight over the summer, but he could use more muscle. He rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue at himself. He was being stupid. Staring at himself was a waste of time. 

What did Potter _mean_ asking to sleep next to him? Was it possible that he was that innocent? Was it possible that he was that straight?

“Absolutely,” Draco said to the mirror. 

“Don’t talk to yourself, love,” the mirror responded. “People will stare.”

Draco threw on his clothes and left the toilets. 

In the common room, Blaise was playing chess with Zacharias Smith. 

“Who’s winning?” Draco asked.

“Me of course,” Blaise said, and directed one of his knights to take out Smith’s Queen.

Pansy was by the window, reading. She squinted at him. “Why do you look like that?”

“Look like what?”

“ _Clean._ ”

“No reason,” he said casually.

“You’re hiding something.”

“Rubbish. I just didn’t want to waste time in the morning.”

“I don’t believe you.” She continued to squint at him, trying to decode him. 

“Stare at me all you want. I don’t have any secrets.” He leaned against the wall and yawned. “Damn, I’m knackered.”

“You _are_ hiding something.” She pulled the book closer to her face. “But don’t you worry, it’s only a matter of time before I find out.”

“Piss off.” He headed for the dormitory. He climbed the stairs, his stomach clenching. On the other side of the door was Potter and a shared bed.

The dormitory was quiet, all beds empty except for one. Draco walked past Potter without looking at him. He put his back to him to quickly change into his pyjamas. He didn’t care if Potter saw him in his pants; let him look if he wanted. 

He crawled into bed and shut his curtains. Then he waited. Slowly, their dorm mates came up to bed. It took hours for everyone to fall asleep. Draco had expected as much, but it was still torture.

 _Don’t think about it_ , he told himself. Potter was surely not fretting like he was. He couldn’t embarrass himself. He couldn’t do anything unbecoming. 

A little after midnight, Draco pushed his curtains back. He waited a few moments, listening hard. He wouldn’t move until he was certain Blaise and Greg were asleep. He heard Greg’s thunderous snoring and no movement came from Blaise’s bed. With a deep breath, Draco sneaked over to Potter.

Potter was waiting for him behind his curtains. He had on his pyjamas as well, and his hair was even wilder from laying down. 

“Get in,” he said with a smile and pulled back the covers.

Draco quickly complied, their legs knocking together.

“Your feet are freezing,” Potter whispered.

“Cast a silencing charm.”

Potter pawed for his wand and muttered a spell, then he closed his curtains with another spell. He laid back on his pillow, smiling. 

Draco stared. His heart was beating so fast. He couldn’t look away.

“So,” Potter said.

“This is mad.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“It’s not a good idea.”

“Don’t leave.”

Draco hesitated. “I’m not going to leave.”

“Good.” Potter fluffed up Draco’s pillow. “Get comfortable. I’m not hogging the duvet, am I?”

“No.”

“That’s good.”

Draco was so stiff; he couldn’t relax. He felt Potter’s warmth through the bedding; he heard his quiet breathing. It was dark, but Potter had cast a dim _Lumos_ , and the shadows made his lips look so inviting. They were so close; all Draco would have to do was lean over and kiss him.

“Why did you hate me?”

Draco blinked. “What?”

“All throughout school. You hated me. Why?” Potter looked at him earnestly.

“Why did you hate me?”

Potter thought for a moment. “Because you were a prat. You were always trying to start shit with me. You wanted everyone to pay attention to you, especially me.”

“You make me sound desperate.”

“Weren’t you?”

Draco frowned. He didn’t really feel like talking to Potter about this, but he supposed this was a good enough opportunity. “I did want you to pay attention to me,” he said quietly.

“Why?” Potter seemed confused.

“Because I wanted you to be my friend.”

“But you had friends. Why did it matter if I was your friend?”

“Because . . . you were famous. You were you. I wanted to boast that I was friendly with the great Harry Potter.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like your family were my biggest fans. It’s weird that your father didn’t encourage you to hate me.”

“I was a very spoiled child. It wouldn’t have been politically smart to hate you. Not back then.”

“Your father was never nice to me.”

“He’s not a nice man.”

Potter sighed, and Draco could tell he was a little frustrated. Draco couldn’t blame him. He wasn’t telling Potter the full story and they both knew it. But the full story was too embarrassing.

“Does it make you angry to see Ginny Weasley around school?” Draco asked abruptly.

“Angry?”

“Didn’t she break up with you?”

Potter blinked at him. “I don’t really think about her anymore.”

“Why not? Have you already moved on?”

Potter looked away, and his cheeks were a little pink. “Yeah.”

“Of course you have,” Draco muttered, but then he smirked and leaned closer. “Tell me who it is. I want to know.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. You can trust me. Who’s the lucky girl?”

Potter scoffed. He was really blushing now, and his movements were jumpy, like he was nervous. “I’m not going to tell you.”

“I bet she plays Quidditch. You always liked the Quidditch girls.”

“What about you?” Potter said.

Draco pulled back, his smirk dropping. “What?”

“I’m sure you’ve got your eye on a few girls.”

“Why are you so sure?” Draco flinched. He needed to be more careful with his responses. He couldn’t accidently imply anything.

“I dunno,” Potter said, watching him closely. “You’re an attractive bloke. I see how some of the girls look at you.”

“You notice girls looking at me?”

Potter shrugged awkwardly. “Yeah.”

“But why?” Draco was honestly confused.

“Why what?”

“Why are you noticing things like that?”

“I don’t _choose_ to notice it! I’m just living my life, and I happen to see it.”

“Yes, but why are you looking in the first place?”

“God, Malfoy! I don’t know!”

“I thought you were calling me Draco now?” He smirked.

“Oh, piss off!”

Draco was silent for a moment, enjoying his victory. It did feel like a victory; he’d escaped from telling Potter anything personal and he’d made Potter _embarrassed_.

“Pansy mentioned something about you and Astoria Greengrass,” Potter said suddenly.

“Did she?” he answered casually.

“Are you dating her?”

He watched Potter for any clues, but Potter’s expression gave nothing away. “What’s it to you if I am?”

“I haven’t seen you with her.”

“You aren’t with me all the time.”

“I know that, but couples are usually visible. They walk around, holding hands, snogging.”

“Do you want to see me snog her?” Draco spoke without thinking.

Potter flushed again. He stared at Draco, wide-eyed. “N-no.”

Draco’s lips widened into a nasty smirk. “Are you sure about that?”

“What the hell do you mean?”

Draco shrugged casually. “Oh, nothing.”

“No, tell me!” Potter got on his knees to hover over him. “Tell me, you git!”

“You’re so worked up.”

“No, I’m not! I just want you to give me a straight answer for once!”

“I am giving you a straight answer.”

“No, you’re not!” Potter lunged for him, and Draco put his hands out to protect himself. Potter ended up on top of him, struggling, grunting. He was trying to pin Draco down, immobilize him, but Draco refused to submit. 

“Please don’t move,” Potter whispered.

“Potter,” Draco said, his voice breathy. He pushed up, wanting to get away, but Potter felt so damn good on top of him. 

“Draco,” Potter replied, strained. 

“Not this again.”

“This isn’t funny, you prat.”

Draco let his hands settle on Potter’s warm back. Potter was still on top of him, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, and if Draco widened his legs, Potter would be nestled in between his thighs.

“What now?” Potter whispered, his green eyes wide and bright.

“You could get off me.”

“Do you want that?”

Draco bit his lip. No, he didn’t want that, but he also wasn’t about to admit to liking it. “Is this you _comforting_ me? Crushing me?”

“Am I hurting you? Can you breathe?” Potter sounded frightened.

“It’s okay for now.”

Potter gave a frustrated groan. “I could hex you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“God, Draco,” Potter said, and dropped his forehead to his shoulder. “You make me so _crazy_.”

“You’ve always been a bit strange.”

“Is this not affecting you at all?”

“Why should it?” It took a lot to make his voice so dull.

“Fuck,” Potter said, and tried to pull away, but Draco hung on.

“No, don’t move.”

Potter grinned down at him. “So, you do like this.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“What else would you like?” Potter carded his right hand through Draco’s hair, over and over. “Does that feel good?”

Draco’s eyes fluttered. “Yeah.”

“What else would you like me to do?”

“Do whatever you want.”

Potter made a noise in his throat, like a whine. With a trembling hand, he caressed Draco’s chest, his stomach.

Turning his face away, Draco yanked his shirt up to just below his nipples to give Potter access to his bare skin.

“Oh,” Potter said. He touched just above Draco’s navel, his hand shaking even more. He caressed Draco’s ribs, then down to the small of his belly.

Draco pressed his eyes closed. Fuck, fuck. He was getting hard. Potter’s hand just felt so good, and it was _Potter_ touching him, the same person who’d killed the Dark Lord. 

“What’s wrong?”

Draco gritted his teeth. He shook his head.

Potter shifted, then went still. He let out his breath in a pant. 

“Don’t say a word,” Draco growled.

“You’re . . . because of me?”

“Just ignore it.”

Potter gave a breathy laugh. “You want me to ignore that your prick is hard?”

“Shut up!” Draco surged up again, this time with more force. He nearly pushed Potter off him, but Potter pinned his wrists to the bed above his head. “Let go of me!”

“I need to tell you something.”

Draco stared up at him, mesmerized by his eyes, his parted lips. This was his nemesis, the Chosen One. This was the boy he’d looked at while he touched himself.

“No, don’t do it,” Draco said, panicking.

“Why not?” Potter looked so damn disappointed, and Draco didn’t understand.

“I don’t know,” he said, losing courage. “I just – not now. Later. Tomorrow, maybe. Come with me to the Forbidden Forest. We can pick fresh ingredients for our potion.”

Potter sighed and let go of his wrists. He rolled to his side. “I can wait until tomorrow.”

“Good,” Draco said, barely able to feel his lips.

Potter moved to the side of the bed, giving Draco more room. He fluffed up his pillow. “Goodnight, then.”

Draco gulped. They were really doing it. They were really going to sleep next to each other. “Yes, goodnight,” he answered, his voice soft. He put his back to Potter and closed his eyes, waiting for his stiffy to disappear. It took forever for sleep to come.

*

It was strange, but the next morning, Draco woke up refreshed, his head truly cleared for the first time in months. He shifted and realized that Potter had draped an arm over him, almost hugging him. Potter felt so damn warm against his back. Draco wanted to rub against him; he wanted to rock back, over and over, until he felt him harden.

“Morning,” Potter whispered in his ear, his voice rough from sleep.

 _Harry_ , Draco almost whispered back, but he controlled himself. He wanted Potter to kiss his neck. He wanted him to undo his pyjama bottoms and sneak a warm, warm hand inside to palm his cock. 

Fuck, Draco was getting hard. He was getting hard and there was nothing he could do about it.

Suddenly, Potter rolled away and sat up. He yawned loudly.

Trying to hide his disappointment, Draco peeked through the bed curtains. “Nobody’s awake yet.”

“Good. You should go now before anyone sees you.”

“Yeah,” Draco said. He hesitated briefly before getting to his feet. “Meet me at the entrance after breakfast. We still need to pick those ingredients.”

“Yes, sir,” Potter said, grinning sleepily. 

An hour or so later, he and Potter were crossing the grounds to the forest. The day was cool, and the tips of the trees were finally turning. Draco glanced back at the castle, and he thought it looked like a giant stone teapot. 

It was still against school rules to enter the Forbidden Forest, so they circled the perimeter before slipping between the trees. It was colder here among the branches and wet earth, and their breaths made faint smoke. 

“What are we looking for again?” Potter asked.

“Horned bark and midnight poppies.”

“Can we only nab the poppies at midnight?”

“Why the hell would we be here right now if that was the case?”

Potter shrugged. “Dunno. Everybody makes mistakes.”

Draco wanted to shove him against a tree and snog him. “We’ll have to dig in the mud, I’m afraid.”

“For the poppies?”

“Yes.” 

Potter squinted at the ground. “What the hell am I looking for?”

“Little white petals. They are awfully difficult to see in this light, hence their name.”

“Great.”

They continued their search for a good fifteen minutes, stumbling over gnarled roots and hidden holes.

Finally, they spotted the little poppies, white like stars amid a muddy sky. Draco crouched down, but before he could sink his fingers into the earth, Potter spoke to him:

“I want to talk to you.”

“After,” Draco said, glancing up at him and finding his eyes too bright in the gloom. 

“I have a feeling it will always be ‘after’.”

Draco shook his head. “No, I just—”

“What is it?” Potter asked.

“I hear footsteps.”

Potter listened hard. “I don’t hear—”

“Don’t move,” growled a voice.

Potter jumped in front of Draco, who surged to his feet. “Who’s there?”

A man emerged from the shadows. He was tall and scruffy, with angry dark eyes and a few nasty scars slashing his face. Draco gasped: It was Antonin Dolohov. 

“It’s my lucky day,” Dolohov said slowly, flashing his blackened teeth. “Here my big plan was to sneak into Hogwarts to get to you, but you just came to me.”

“You killed Remus,” Potter said.

Dolohov’s smile widened. “And a lot of others.”

“Everyone said Flitwick killed you,” Draco said, trying to move around Potter, but Potter put his arm out to block him. 

“Old Flitwick was wrong.” Dolohov touched his side. “The old man got close, though.”

“What do you want from us?” Potter said, his voice rough. 

Dolohov held his wand in the air, powerful but indecisive. “I had a plan. A big, stupid plan. Funny enough, it involved you two, and Draco’s little secret.”

“What are you talking about?” Draco said, disgusted.

“You don’t think the Dark Lord had us search every corner of the Manor? I found the newspaper clippings.” He winked at Draco.

“Impossible,” Draco said, his heart thumping. “The Dark Lord would’ve killed me if he knew about those.”

“I never told him. The possibility for black mail was too great. I imagined using it against Lucius, but since he’s in Azkaban, you’re the next best option.”

“What newspaper clippings?” Potter said carefully.

“I can give you nothing of value,” Draco said. “I have no power, no money. Tell the whole world about those clippings; I don’t care.”

Dolohov threw his head back and laughed. It was a cruel, terrible laugh, and Draco held his breath. Nothing good came from a laugh like that.

“The Malfoys are the reason why the Dark Lord lost, why we all lost. If it weren’t for your dear old mum, the Dark Lord would have known that Harry Potter wasn’t truly dead.”

“What are you going to do to us?” Draco whispered.

“I don’t care what he does to us,” Potter said, his voice hard. He stepped in front of Draco, fully blocking him. “I’ve already killed Voldemort. Who says you’ll be any different?”

Draco sensed Dolohov’s next move without actually seeing it. “No!” he screamed, and shoved hard into Potter to knock him out of the way. Dolohov growled a curse, and there was a flash of light.

They tumbled to the ground.

*

“ _Stupefy_!” Harry yelled from the ground. His spell was so powerful that it knocked Dolohov into the hard belly of a tree. Dolohov lay amid the dirty leaves, unconscious.

“Draco,” he whispered, crawling to him. Draco looked dead, his skin cold, almost blue. Harry shook him and whispered his name again. Draco didn’t stir.

Harry pushed himself to his feet. He had to think quickly. Draco was obviously in serious trouble, but Dolohov was bound to wake up soon. He didn’t want to let him get away.

Shaking, he Conjured up his stag Patronus and gave it a message: “Emergency! Draco and I have been attacked in the Forbidden Forest. The attacker is unconscious, but we need help! Draco is severely injured.” The stag raced through the trees toward the castle. Harry hoped that the professors would find them fast enough.

He Conjured ropes to tie Dolohov to the tree. It was awkward work, but he got it done before the Death Eater began to regain consciousness. 

He knelt beside Draco and felt for his breath. He was still breathing, but it was ragged and slow. Harry felt so damn useless. He hadn’t a clue what to do to save him, and he was afraid to cast any spells on him. He didn’t want to do more damage.

Finally, he heard hurried footsteps through the trees. McGonagall, Flitwick, and Madam Hooch stumbled on him.

“Merlin!” McGonagall said, dropping down to examine Draco. Hooch pulled Dolohov from the tree and cast an even stronger spell on his constraints. Flitwick Conjured a golden box around Dolohov and both box and Death Eater floated in the air. Dolohov, who was barely awake, lolled from side to side, his eyelids flickering. 

“What happened?” McGonagall asked, gruff. 

Harry took a deep breath. “Draco and I were searching for potion ingredients when Dolohov came upon us. He tried to curse me, but – but Draco pushed me out of the way.”

McGonagall’s nostrils flexed as she breathed deeply, trying to calm herself. “Why in the world did you think it was a good idea to venture into the forest alone?”

Harry shrugged, feeling terrible. “I thought the threat was over.”

“And you were wrong!” She turned to Flitwick and Hooch. “How should we transport him?”

“With as little magic as possible,” Flitwick said. “The curse might be deadly.”

“Yes,” Hooch said, and Conjured up a gurney. Together, they helped Draco onto it, who didn’t stir. 

“Is he going to be all right?” Harry whispered.

“We don’t know,” Flitwick answered.

They trudged back to Hogwarts, cutting through the dark trees, focused on avoiding the hidden puddles. Draco and Dolohov bobbed ahead, both captives in their own way. 

When they made it back to the castle, they headed for the hospital wing, which surprised Harry. He’d assumed Flitwick and Hooch would disappear into the dungeons with Dolohov. 

Madam Pomfrey rushed to their side when they entered the hospital wing. There were a few students in bed, who sat up to get a better look of the new arrivals. Pomfrey shut their curtains with a flick of her wand and cast a strong silencing spell.

“In here,” she said, and they rushed into a side room with a single bed. “Put the student on the bed. Dolohov can stay on the floor.”

McGonagall turned to Hooch. “Go find Horace and tell him to come here with a dose of his strongest Veritaserum.”

“Yes, Headmistress,” Hooch said quietly, then disappeared through the door.

Pomfrey had removed Draco’s wet robes. She moved her wand over his pale chest, over and over, a frown lining her face. “Did you hear the incantation?” she asked Harry sharply.

“I can’t remember.”

“He’s cold to the touch. It’s like he’s been Petrified.”

McGonagall pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. “There are many curses that cause these symptoms. All of them are deadly. We will have to ask Dolohov to explain himself.”

Harry hoped he wasn’t asked to leave. He was of age and it was his right to know what Draco suffered from. _Malfoy_ , he thought, trying to correct himself, but it was useless. He cared for Draco now. 

“Have a seat, dear,” Pomfrey said to him. “We can’t treat your friend properly with you in the way.”

“Oh,” Harry said, a bit startled. Hadn’t she seen who she was treating? Why would she call them mates? 

He took up a chair in the corner and watched with his hand gripping his wand. Dolohov was still waking up, but he wanted to be ready for anything. 

Professor Slughorn burst through the doors holding a vial. His mustache twitched excitedly as he surveyed the scene.

“Is it really Dolohov?” he whispered.

“Yes,” McGonagall said sternly. “Are you willing to administer the serum or would you prefer I do it?”

Slughorn eyed Dolohov with some hesitation. “You should do it.”

“Fine,” she said, and motioned to Flitwick to break the golden prison. He did so, then forced Dolohov into a hard chair and renewed his constraints. McGonagall swished her wand and Dolohov’s mouth fell open. She tipped the serum down his throat. 

After a moment, she commanded, “Dolohov, wake up.”

The man blinked a few times. He stared at them dully.

“Tell us what you did to Draco Malfoy,” McGonagall commanded.

“I froze his heart.”

“What does that mean?”

Dolohov grinned, and it was dreamy and cruel. “His heart is slowly turning to ice, and the only way to stop it is for him to do the impossible.”

“And what is that?”

“He had a crush. A stupid, dangerous crush. I knew his crush would never feel the same way. It was impossible. They hated each other. They were enemies. So, I devised a curse that could only be stopped if his crush felt the same way, and more importantly, if they _consummated_ their relationship.”

McGonagall gaped in horror. “He must have sex with this girl to live?”

“The girl is a boy.”

There was a moment of silence. McGonagall glanced at Harry in the corner. “Who is the boy?”

Dolohov snorted and said in a monotone: “Harry Potter.” All three professors stared at Harry.

“It’s time for you to go back to your common room,” McGonagall said to him.

Harry surged to his feet. “No way! I have a right to be here!”

“No, you don’t,” she said patiently. “You have already heard too much.”

“But – I’m personally involved! Draco will die if I don’t – you know –”

“Harry, go back to the common room and stay away from Draco until we find the _right_ way to cure him,” Pomfrey said.

“But I want to stay! It’s ridiculous that you are protecting me from this. I’m an adult. I’m the reason why there’s peace. I deserve to stay.”

“Potter,” McGonagall said lowly. “If you want to remain a student at Hogwarts, you will return to your common room right now.”

“Fine!” Harry said, not caring that he was yelling. He stopped by Draco’s bed to glimpse his frozen face. He touched his hand and whispered, “Hang in there.” Then he left.

As he headed for the common room, he thought about how necessary it was to tell Hermione and Ron what happened, but he didn’t think he could get through the tale without admitting to having feelings for Draco. 

_I can’t keep this a secret_ , he thought, and quickened his steps.

*

When Draco awoke, he had no idea where he was. He was back at Hogwarts, that was for sure, but he couldn’t remember how he’d found himself there. He should be at the Manor, with his mum. He should be nurturing their garden and gluing their walls back together one spell at a time.

He tried to move before realizing he was in terrible, terrible pain. He fell back on his pillow, tears stinging his eyes. Merlin, he was an invalid now.

“Are you awake?” said a calm voice.

He tried to focus his gaze, but his eyes were very weak. “Just barely,” he croaked.

“Good. You must drink this. It’s for the pain.”

“I can’t sit up.”

“I’ll help you.” Gentle hands raised him into a sitting position; then, with a quiet groan, he drank the potion. The pain eased into a hard throb. He was lowered back to his pillows.

“Thank you.” He recognized his surroundings. He was in the hospital wing. “What happened to me?”

“Shh. Go to sleep now. That will come later.”

He was too exhausted to protest. He closed his eyes and drifted off.

*

“Draco,” said a stern voice. “It’s time.”

He blinked up at a blurry woman standing at the end of his bed. He raised himself up with trembling arms. He probably looked ghastly. He hadn’t seen himself in a mirror in days, maybe even weeks. He was still in the hospital wing.

“Do you recognize me?”

He blinked a few times. Yes, he did recognize her, but his brain was taking a long time to land on her name. “Professor McGonagall,” he whispered.

“Correct. May I sit?”

“Of course.”

She took up a chair. She gazed at him as if she was angry with him. “We’ve all been very worried about you. I’m glad you are recovering.”

“What happened?” he asked.

“Do you remember anything?”

He frowned. “No . . . but I think I was with Har – Potter.”

“That is correct.”

He gulped, then whispered: “Did he attack me?”

“Heavens no. He’s the reason why you are alive.”

“Good,” Draco said weakly, so utterly relieved. 

“Dolohov came upon you two in the Forbidden Forest. He meant to kill Harry, but when you threw yourself in front of him, he used a very old curse on you.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s in Azkaban. There will be a trial.”

“Great.”

“You need to know about the curse.”

“Am I dying?” he whispered.

“Yes,” she said, staring hard at him, “but we are doing all that we can to save you.”

He didn’t react. “What is the cure?”

She hesitated. “You are an adult now. The professors had many debates, but we finally decided that it would do more harm not to tell you everything.”

“Okay.”

“Is anything coming back to you? It’s my understanding that Dolohov explained his motivations to you.”

“No.”

McGonagall sucked in a breath. “Dolohov wanted revenge. He wanted to humiliate the Malfoys. Hurt them. He wanted you to die.”

Draco nodded. “He didn’t like that we helped Harry Potter.”

“Yes, so therefore he manipulated an old curse that targeted your . . . affection for Mr Potter.”

“What?” Draco couldn’t breathe. “He knew about that? _You_ know about that?”

“I’m afraid so,” she said. 

Draco thought hard. He was a clever young man. He could see where this was going. “So, Dolohov knew that I wanted Potter to fancy me, so he put a curse on me knowing that Potter would never fancy me.”

“He assumed that Mr Potter was strictly . . . heterosexual.” She shifted in her seat uncomfortably. 

“Merlin,” he breathed. “I’m going to die if I can’t get Potter to kiss me or something?”

“More than just a kiss.” If McGonagall had been a blushing person, Draco was sure she’d be tomato red. 

“I have to get Potter to _shag_ me?”

“You don’t have to do anything. It’s a ridiculous request. The professors are working hard to find a different cure.”

“Does Potter know?” His stomach twisted horribly.

“He knows some. You must stay away from him.”

“Why?” Draco said, his cheeks hot.

“Because this is a disgusting, dangerous curse. We cannot trust it.”

“But . . . if you don’t find another cure, I will die.”

“We will find another cure.”

“How did Potter react?” Draco asked. For the first time, he was glad that Snape was dead, because he couldn’t imagine having this conversation with him. 

McGonagall frowned. “It doesn’t matter. You must stay away from him.”

“I will never learn how to cast a Patronus.”

“What do you mean?”

Draco shook his head. He would never learn how to cast a Patronus and he would never kiss Potter.

“You should rest,” McGonagall said, inspecting his face. “In a few days, you can return to class.”

“Will I have the strength?”

“Yes. For now.”

*

A week later, Draco was able to leave the hospital wing and return to classes. While he recovered, his friends had visited him, and even Granger had stopped by to say hello. Potter didn’t show.

They weren’t close or anything, but Draco had been hearing about his antics for years now, and listening to a professor’s orders was not something he did. If Potter had wanted to see Draco, he would’ve come. 

Draco still lacked strength and concentration, but the potions that Pomfrey gave him were helpful. In class, he was allowed to take breaks and sit while the other students stood. In Potions, Draco stared into his cauldron and didn’t look up for the whole lesson. He knew Potter was there, but he refused to look at him. Potter chose not to brew next to him. 

After a handful of days, Draco was quite depressed. He hurt all the time and he gasped for breath when he climbed stairs. He wanted to give up. Go back to the Manor. Mother would know what to do. 

That night, Granger approached him in the library. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Brilliant,” he muttered. 

“May I sit?”

He shrugged. “I don’t care.”

She took up the chair opposite him at the small table. She grinned at him nervously. “What homework are you doing?”

“Charms.”

“Oh, I already finished that. I’m onto Transfiguration now.”

“Good for you. Want an award?”

“No, thank you,” she said breezily. “I already have too many.”

He snorted and really looked at her for the first time. Her hair was a disaster and her eyebrows needed a good plucking. He wanted to suggest a brand of comb to her.

“Have you spoken to Harry?”

“No.”

“Oh,” she said awkwardly. “Is that why you are so sad?”

“I’m not sad!”

“You _seem_ sad. Come to think of it, he seems sad too.”

“Do you know what’s wrong with me?”

She hesitated. “You are suffering from a curse.”

“Yes, and the professors told Potter not to come near me.”

“I think he’s worried about you.”

“He’s not.” 

“How do you know?”

Draco gritted his teeth. “If he was worried, he would’ve visited me in hospital. He’s still got that Invisibility Cloak, doesn’t he?”

She sighed. “I want to help you, Draco. You’ve called me a Mudblood. You were downright nasty for years, but you’ve changed and I don’t like seeing you struggle.”

“I don’t need your help!”

“Wasn’t Harry tutoring you? Maybe I can step in where he left off.”

“He was trying to teach me how to cast a Patronus.”

“Oh! I know how to do that!”

“Great for you.”

“Oh, come on. Let me help you. I think it will make you happier.”

He stared at her, frowning. He didn’t understand why Granger had suddenly taken an interest in him. Then it dawned on him that Potter might have asked her to do this. To help Draco when he could not. It excited him that Potter might be thinking of him.

“And what about Potter? I was showing him how to brew properly.”

“It’s true that he’s struggling.”

 _Good_ , Draco thought. He stood and gathered his things. “Tomorrow night work for you?”

“Yes.”

“Meet me in the dungeons then. There’s an unused classroom down there.”

“Yes, I know what you’re talking about.”

He lifted his bag to his shoulder with some effort. “See you then.” He left.

*

The next night, Draco ate his dinner quickly, avoiding the concerned gazes of Blaise and Pansy. Potter walked right behind him, and Draco had to make fists of his hands to contain his hatred.

The trek to the dungeons was familiar but slow. The steps became slippery with moisture and Draco had to take care not to fall. The portraits watched him sadly, maybe with some alarm, and he ignored the urge to give them two fingers.

Granger was waiting for him in the unused classroom. She smiled at him and tried to take his bag, but he resisted her. 

“All right,” she said. “Where did you stop with Harry?”

“I was almost successful at casting a Patronus.”

“What went wrong?”

“I don’t know, obviously. I kept trying, but all I was able to produce was wispy light.”

“Hmm,” Granger said. “Were you distracted?”

“What do you mean?”

“Was Harry distracting you?”

He hesitated, not sure if he should answer honestly. “Perhaps.”

“Okay,” she said, stepping back. “Close your eyes and take a deep breath. Block everything out. It’s okay if it takes you a few minutes to focus completely.”

Draco did what he was told. His head hurt a little, and he wondered if he had the strength to cast this spell. He breathed slow and deep like she asked, and did his best to stop his mind from wandering.

A minute passed and Granger said, “Now think of a happy memory, something so happy that it fills your chest with warmth.”

It was morbid, but his happiest moment was witnessing the death of the Dark Lord. He’d clung to his mother and father, desperately happy to have them with him, alive, not broken. He clung to them and watched that monster of a wizard die by the hand of a seventeen year old boy, a boy who was the same age as Draco, who _knew_ Draco. The Dark Lord lay dead, cold, unmoving, and Potter turned, grinning, so relieved, and he’d looked so beautiful, so unbelievably beautiful—

“Now cast the spell,” Granger said softly.

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” His magic was strong, almost blinding, and it took him a moment before he saw his success. 

A reindeer galloped around them, its antlers almost too large for its head, a dusting of white on its pelt. He frowned, surprised that it wasn’t some dark creature like a snake, and unsettled that it looked a lot like Potter’s Patronus.

Granger muffled a laugh. “Your Patronus is Rudolph.”

“Who’s that?” Draco said, embarrassed. This just made her giggle more.

“One more time, Rudolph.”

“Fine,” he said, and cast the charm again. He had to admit; the reindeer was quite breathtaking. 

“ _Rudolph the red nose reindeer_ ,” Granger sang softly.

“Oh, shut up,” he said, not understanding but knowing she was having a laugh at his expense.

“Let’s stop for tonight,” she said. “We don’t want to exhaust you.”

“Okay.” He was distracted as they exited the classroom and walked down the corridor. “Do you think it means anything?”

“What do you mean?”

“My Patronus. Do you think it means anything?”

She shrugged. “Maybe you just like the cold.”

“Didn’t it remind you of Potter’s?”

She looked at him curiously, but before she could answer, they heard muffled laughter and some footsteps. At the end of the corridor, semi-hidden in a small alcove, was Ginny Weasley and Millicent Bulstrode snogging.

They were quite distracted. Millicent had her hands under Weasley’s shirt. Granger gasped, which startled them apart. 

Granger and Draco rushed forward. Both girls blushed furiously; Millicent looked like she was a second away from attacking them from intruding. 

This juicy gossip made Draco’s face split into a satisfied grin. He stuck out his hand to Millicent. “Congratulations! What a catch.”

“Oh, piss off,” she said, and rushed off. Weasley looked at Granger.

“Are you going to tell Ron?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

“Good. Thanks.” 

“But you should tell him. You can’t keep this a secret forever. It’s unfair to you and Bulstrode.”

“Yeah,” Weasley said, sounding doubtful. She glanced down the corridor. “I need to go find her.”

“Don’t let us stop you,” Granger said.

“Yeah,” Weasley said, and scurried away.

As they walked back in silence, a thought occurred to Draco and he frowned. 

“Don’t you think Potter should know?”

“It’s none of his business.”

“But . . . he dated her. If they are going about snogging where anyone could see them, don’t you think he deserves to know before everyone else finds out?”

Granger worried her bottom lip. “It’s not for me to decide. Ginny should be the one to tell him.”

“Oh, stop being so proper. Potter’s got a right to know before everyone else. He needs to protect himself.”

She eyed him with interest. “You do care for him, don’t you?”

Draco huffed. “Only a little.”

“It’s very strange – Draco Malfoy caring for Harry Potter.”

He winked at her. “We’re wizards and witches; our entire world is strange.”

She turned on him suddenly and jabbed him in the chest with her wand. “Are your feelings true? Do they come from the right place?”

“What’s the ‘right place’?”

She glared at him. “You know what I mean. You were always out to hurt him, to humiliate him. Nobody changes that much.”

“Why help me learn charms if you don’t trust me?”

“My mind isn’t made up. I wanted to see for myself.”

For some reason, this hurt him. He smiled to hide it. “I don’t care what you think of me, Granger.”

“Because I’m Muggle-born?”

“No. Because you’re _annoying_.”

“I just taught you the Patronus charm, _Rudolph_. I can’t be that irksome.” 

“What do you want me to say? Must I get on my knees and beg your forgiveness? Or, better yet, let me show you my heart; my cold, beating heart that only wants Potter.”

She stared. “McGonagall thinks it’s best you stay away from him. What don’t I know?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Does Harry know?”

“He must.” Draco gulped and tried to suppress his anger, his pain. He was so terribly disappointed. “He must know that my life is in danger, and yet he chooses to stay away. He doesn’t care.”

“He cares,” she said, frowning. 

“You say this, but where is the notorious Potter action? I am not you or Weasley; my life is meaningless to him.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Yes,” he said quietly. 

“Then go to him,” she answered, equally quiet. “Go to him and tell him how you feel.”

“He already knows how I feel!”

“No, he doesn’t.” She smiled sadly, showing her rabbit teeth. “Harry can be an idiot; he can be blind. His friends all know this.”

“Are you saying I’m not his friend?”

“No, you’re not his friend. You are something different than a friend.”

Draco’s stomach twisted. He was nervous. He was afraid to move. “Where is he?” he asked, his voice quiet again.

“In the common room, I suppose. I’ll help Ron round up the rest of the eighth year boys so you two will have some privacy.”

“You trust me enough to do that?”

She tilted her head, and her expression became intense. “For now, but if you hurt him, you will hear from me.”

“Understood,” he said, grinning faintly. 

They headed for the common room.

*

Harry and Zabini were the only ones in the dormitory when Draco arrived. Harry wasn’t feeling very social, so he was hiding in his bed, trying to focus on his Transfiguration homework, but the subject only reminded him of McGonagall, who only reminded him of Draco and his deadly predicament.

“Blaise, can you leave us alone for now?” Draco asked, and Harry’s stomach squirmed.

“For how long?” Zabini didn’t sound pleased.

“For as long as necessary. Just get out.”

Zabini huffed and left. Harry stood and leaned against his bedpost. It hurt to look at Draco. He wanted to touch him so badly.

“How have you been?” Harry asked, awkward, his arms crossed over his chest.

Draco stopped in the middle of the room, his face a bit flushed, his hair a bit unkempt. He looked scared.

“Is there something wrong?” Harry asked.

“No, no,” Draco said, but he looked uncertain, then determined. “Yes, there is, actually. You’ve been avoiding me, you arsehole.”

“Yes,” Harry said quietly.

Draco stepped closer. “You don’t give a shit about me.”

“I do.”

“You didn’t visit me in the hospital wing. You saw me attacked and you didn’t care enough to know how I was doing.”

Harry surged forward, not sure what he was doing. “I did care. I do. McGonagall told me not to see you—”

“When did that ever stop you with Weasley or Granger? How many times did you defy the professors?”

“This time it was important. I understood the consequences.”

Draco shook his head bitterly. “I don’t believe it. But that’s okay. We were never meant to be friends anyway.”

“You jumped in front of me,” Harry said quietly. “You saved my life.”

“And you don’t care.”

“God, Draco, I care! You’re not listening to me.”

“I’m listening! I understand _utterly_. We used to be enemies. I let Death Eaters into Hogwarts. It’s hard to trust me.”

“Draco,” Harry whispered. “I fancy you.”

“Oh.” Draco gulped a few times.

Harry faced the wall. “I don’t want to force you to do anything.”

“I don’t want to force you, either.”

“You said you didn’t want me to touch you.”

Draco frowned. “When?”

“The night before you were attacked. We were, you know, in bed, and you didn’t like me touching you.” He remembered how he’d felt Draco’s stiffy, but he still didn’t know what that meant. Was it purely a physical response, something Draco had no control over?

“I liked it,” Draco said very quietly.

Harry stepped closer. “If you really do fancy me, I hate that it’s happening like this. I hate that I killed Voldemort, but people are still suffering.”

Emotion competed on Draco’s face. He looked so uncomfortable, so afraid, that it was impossible to imagine that he actually wanted Harry.

“I don’t know what to say,” Draco said. “I don’t know what to do to make you believe me.”

“Kiss me,” he said without thinking. 

They stared at one another. Draco’s lips parted, and the expression in his eyes was panicked. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Because you’re not used to fancying blokes?”

Draco shook his head. “I don’t want you to do it because you pity me, because you want to save me.”

“Christ,” Harry muttered, then closed the space between them.

“What are you doing?”

Harry didn’t break eye contact. “I’m going to kiss you now, and it’s not because I feel sorry for you.” He leaned in but Draco turned away. He headed for his bed and sat down.

“I want to hear you say it again,” Draco whispered.

“Say what?”

“Tell me you fancy me. Tell me _why_ you fancy me.”

Sighing, Harry sat down beside him. He placed his hand on his knee because he wanted to do it. Summoning all the Gryffindor courage he had, he gazed into Draco’s eyes and said, “I fancy you, Draco Malfoy.”

“Why?”

Harry had never been good with words. He’d never been good with feelings. He thought hard, wanting to say the right thing. Honesty. He just had to be honest.

“I fancy you because you’re fit, so fucking fit. You make me feel things that nobody ever has.”

“Not even Ginny Weasley?”

“No.” Harry shook his head, not sure if he could explain it. “I guess I’ve always been intrigued by you. We were so different, and I didn’t understand how you could be such an arse all the time, but I still thought about you. And I know sometimes it was an obsession. Then I saw you during the war, and you saved my life, in your own way, mind, but you still did it, and I never thought I'd be into blokes. Never. But then I came back here and there you were, suddenly attractive and humble and _nice_. It makes me wonder what would’ve happened if you had always been so nice. I probably would’ve taken you to the Yule Ball instead of Parvati.”

Draco kissed him. The kiss was hard, urgent, and Harry froze for a moment. Draco Malfoy was kissing him. He’d wanted it, god how he’d wanted it, but it still shocked him. He was kissing a boy. He was kissing a Death Eater.

“I knew it,” Draco said, breaking away.

“What?”

“I knew it wasn’t real.”

“Oh, shut up,” Harry said, and pulled him closer. When their lips met, Harry was prepared this time, and he kissed Draco with all the emotion he could muster. Draco moaned and buried his hands in his hair.

After a moment, Draco sat back. “This isn’t just because you want to save my life?”

“No! I mean, of course I want to save your life, but I wanted to shag you even before then. Didn’t I make enough of a fool of myself when we were on the bed together?”

“You pinned me down and stared at me. You didn’t snog me. You didn’t try to wank me.”

Harry blinked several times. “Would you have allowed me to touch you like that?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I touch you like that now?”

Draco ran his hands through his hair, nervous, contemplating. “Yeah, but you can’t look at my socks.”

“What? Why?”

“Because they have holes,” Draco whispered.

“Fuck,” Harry said, and kissed him again. They kissed and kissed, and it was arousing in a new way. He never knew a kiss could make him so desperate.

“Please,” Draco said.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

Harry closed his eyes. “Do you think that’s smart?”

“I don’t care.” Draco pulled at his shirt. “Sod Dolohov. I don’t care about what he did to me. I just want you inside me.”

“Have you done it before?”

Draco shook his head, his hands now urgently tugging on Harry’s shirt. “No, no, but I don’t care. I want you to do it. I’ve wanted it for so long.”

“Really?” Harry asked, surprised.

“No more talking.” Draco kissed him deeply. He got Harry’s shirt off, his hands roaming over his chest and stomach. He yanked at his belt. “I want to see you.”

“Okay,” Harry said shakily, not really believing this was happening. He removed his belt, then unbuttoned his trousers. Draco helped him yank them down to his knees. He thought they would stop there, but no: Draco yanked down his pants, too, and suddenly he was on full display.

“Oh,” Draco said, staring. 

Harry resisted the urge to cover himself up. He couldn’t look down or at Draco. He knew his cock was embarrassingly hard. 

“Oh,” Draco said again, running a finger up his shaft. Harry bit back a moan. Draco glanced at his face. “Do you like it?”

Harry nodded. “Do whatever you want to me.”

Draco stroked him slowly, his eyes wide. “I thought you’d be bigger.”

“Oh, shut up,” Harry said, groaning. 

Smirking, Draco leaned down. Harry didn’t understand what he was doing until he felt Draco’s tongue on his cock.

“Oh, fuck!”

“Is this the first time?”

“Yes,” Harry hissed.

“Good,” Draco said roughly, and he dropped to his knees between Harry’s thighs. He sucked Harry into his mouth, tasting him, and Harry’s mouth fell open. There was too much teeth, but the feeling was extraordinary. 

Draco bobbed his head and added a little suction. Harry was trembling. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. Draco massaged his bollocks, which made Harry thrust uncontrollably. 

Draco jerked back. “Ugh.”

“What? Did I hurt you?”

“No, it was just a lot of precome.” 

“Oh.” Harry was determined not to be too embarrassed. “Sorry?”

Draco rolled his eyes and kissed him. Harry tasted himself on his lips and tongue, and he understood why Draco had stopped. 

“Get your clothes off,” Harry whispered.

“Okay,” Draco said, nervous. He didn’t look up as he got undressed. Harry was mesmerized by his body. 

“Wow.”

“What?” Draco was frowning. 

“You’re—wow.” Harry touched his chest, his warm thighs. “You’re so pink.”

“Shut up.” Draco dragged him into a kiss. 

“Also, you’re not bigger than me.”

“I said shut up.” Draco pushed him onto his back and crawled on top of him. 

“Wait, cast protection charms.”

“I’m not a girl, you idiot.”

“No, I mean on the door!”

“Oh.” Draco pawed for his wand. He muttered a locking and silencing charm. He kissed Harry again and thrust against him, which made them both moan. 

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

“Say it again.”

Harry mouthed up his neck, then nibbled behind his ear. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

Draco placed Harry’s hands on his arse. “What about my arse?”

Squeezing, massaging, Harry’s hands began to tremble.

“Go on. Touch my hole.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Why? Does it hurt your virgin ears?”

“You’re going to make me come.”

Draco whispered in his ear: “Put your fingers in me. I want to be ready for you.”

Harry laughed and pushed up on him. He kneeled over Draco as he Conjured some lube. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

“No.”

“Then how can you say such filthy things?”

Draco shrugged. “Dunno. I guess it comes from the soul.” Without breaking eye contact, he widened his thighs. “Come on. Fill me up.”

“Christ,” Harry muttered, and crouched between his legs.

“No, no. You won’t say that Muggle nonsense while we’re shagging. I won’t stand for it.”

Harry bit his lip, smiling. “I’ll do my best to not say it.”

“Good.” Draco smirked a little. It was obvious he liked making Harry nervous. “Go on.”

Very gently, Harry pressed a finger inside him. Draco’s eyes fluttered and he fell back against the sheets.

“Shit.”

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, but it’s okay.”

“We don’t have to do it like this, you know.”

“I think we do.”

“Oh, yeah.” Harry frowned. “The curse.”

“Yeah, that little thing. Move your finger.”

Harry thrust his finger in and out, and his eyes were trained on Draco’s arse. “Does it feel better?”

“Merlin, Potter! You’re not my Healer. This isn’t some sort of examine.”

Harry grimaced and tried to focus on the task. Draco felt so fucking good around his finger, but his hole seemed so small. 

“I don’t know if I can do it.”

“You can do it.”

Harry moved his finger faster, groaning at the feeling.

“Another one,” Draco whispered.

“Yes, yes,” Harry said, and squeezed in another one. Now Draco really felt full; he felt so fucking fragile around his fingers. He brushed over his prostate, entirely by accident, and Draco let out a pant.

“Now, I want you now,” Draco said, twisting. 

“But—”

“Do it.”

He Conjured up more lube, his hand shaking. He slicked himself up and got into position. He was really going to do it. He was really going to be inside Draco Malfoy.

“Harry,” Draco whispered, touching his cheek. “I want you to do it.”

He couldn’t speak. He lined himself up and pushed inside, not sure if he was doing it careful enough. Draco let out a loud breath and stiffened beneath him. 

“God,” Harry said, trembling. Draco arched his back, making a noise that wasn’t quite a moan. “I’m hurting you, aren’t I?”

Draco pressed his cheek to the sheets. “I – don’t know,” he panted. “I like it.”

“I have to move.”

“Okay.”

“I can’t – I’m sorry.” 

“It’s all right – it’s –”

Groaning, Harry pulled out a little and pushed back in. Draco bit hard on his bottom lip.

“Fuck,” Draco said.

“Please – I can’t –” Harry thrust again.

“Merlin, this hurts.”

Harry’s eyes fluttered. He should pull out. It’d been a mistake. There had to be another way – 

“Don’t stop,” Draco whispered.

“But I’m hurting you.”

Draco made another noise and tried to meet his thrust. “I think I like it.”

“Christ, Draco,” Harry said, letting himself move a little faster. 

“Shut up.” Draco twisted beneath him. He clutched Harry’s shoulders, not pulling him closer, but not pushing him away either. “Just shut up.”

“Let me, let me.” Harry rested his forehead against his neck, thrusting over and over. God, it felt good. It felt so good. Draco was hot and tight, and the lube dripped from him. Harry wanted to fuck him hard. He wanted to put his hands around his neck for leverage, squeezing just a little. He wanted to hear Draco cry out.

Draco grunted, taking his thrusts. He widened his thighs and arched more, and he was beautiful, utterly beautiful. He was submitting to Harry, and it was mad, utterly mad. 

Harry was talking. He couldn’t help it. He was talking and he hadn’t a clue what he was saying. “Draco. Draco. Fuck. _Fuck_.”

“Harry,” Draco murmured, now wrapping his arms and legs around him. 

He let himself press Draco into the bed. He let himself thrust as hard as he wanted, and it wasn’t very hard, but it was enough. He felt Draco’s wet prick against his belly, and their flesh smacked together. He was coming without warning. He was coming inside Draco Malfoy, and all he could do was push into him over and over, moaning, clutching at him, his mind nothing but a hot flash.

It took Harry a moment to pull out. Draco grunted and relaxed against the bed. Panting, Harry stared down at him. Draco's eyes were dark, his face flushed. 

“I love you,” Harry whispered because Draco was his first and love was the only name he had for the overwhelming feeling inside him.

Draco laughed and put Harry’s hand on his hard cock. “Show me how much.”

Without thinking about it, Harry sucked him into his mouth, deep, too deep. Draco cried out and thrust, choking him. Harry withdrew a little, learning from his mistake. He sucked lightly, tasting him. It wasn’t a good taste, and the sensation was quite overwhelming, but it was arousing, heart-pounding, cock-twitching arousing. 

“Ahh,” Draco said, his eyes rolling back, and he flooded Harry’s mouth with warm come. 

Harry tried to swallow it all, but it was a lot, and more than a little disgusting. When Draco relaxed against the bed, Harry let go of his cock and laid beside him.

“Did you swallow all of it?” he asked, panting.

Harry nodded and tried not to grimace. He wanted to wash the taste from his mouth.

“You utter beast.”

“Thank you.” Harry gave him a cheeky grin, but Draco was falling asleep. Harry drew the curtains and pulled him closer. A small kip did sound nice.

A little while later, he awoke to Draco carding his fingers through his hair.

“Feels nice,” Harry said sleepily.

“Good.” Draco kissed his forehead, his nose. “I can tell that it worked.”

“What worked?”

Draco laughed. “You really didn’t shag me because of the curse.”

“Oh, the curse. I almost forgot.”

Draco snorted. “How nice of you to be able to forget.”

He sat up and held his hand. “Why do you think it worked?”

“I feel loads better. I have my full strength back.”

Harry was sheepish. “I didn’t even consider your strength.”

“I know. It’s okay.” Draco looked away, suddenly blushing. “I need to tell you something.”

“God, I hope it’s not bad.”

“It’s not too bad.”

“Go on then.” Harry watched him avidly just because he could.

Draco gulped, then gulped again. “During the war, I collected clippings of your face. From the newspaper.”

“Okay.”

“No, listen. It means something to me for you to know this. I collected pictures of you and I kept them in my room, under the floorboard. That’s what Dolohov discovered. That’s why he came up with the curse.”

“Wonderful.”

“I got through the war because of those pictures and the hope they gave me.” Draco’s voice was quiet, his eyes downcast. 

“I’m glad,” Harry said. “And surprised. Shocked, really. But I’m glad.”

“Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

“Maybe.” He laughed. “I don’t really have the brain power right now.”

Draco sighed. “I’m trying to tell you that I fancied you before this year. I’ve fancied you for a long time.”

“How long?”

“No, I won’t say. I can’t.”

Harry kissed his shoulder, his neck. He breathed in the scent of his hair. “I wish I could say the same, but I’m an idiot when it comes to these things. I really did care for Gin.”

“I know, and that’s perfectly all right.”

“Good.” Harry found his lips, nibbling them. He leaned back to get a good look of Draco’s face. “I’m sorry your father’s in Azkaban.”

Draco flinched. “Yes, well, he deserves it.”

Harry squeezed his hand. “Do you really believe that?”

“Yes.” Draco squeezed back. He smiled a little. “Granger helped me cast a Patronus today.”

“That’s great! What shape did it take?”

“A reindeer.”

Harry laughed and laughed. He pulled Draco into a hug, and they fell back against the sheets. “Brilliant, utterly brilliant.”

“Merlin, I’m knackered.” Draco yawned.

“Come on, then. Sleep with me.”

“I sleep better when you’re around.”

Harry kissed him softly. “I know.”

They pulled the duvet over themselves, nestling close. 

“What about the charms on the door?” Draco asked.

“They’ll wear off soon, and if they don’t, our mates are clever enough to break them.”

Harry and Draco fell into a peaceful sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment below. ♥
> 
> This story is part of HD Erised, an on-going anonymous fest. The author will be revealed January 7th.


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